Squall of the Dead
by Ms. Jones
Summary: A romcomzom fanfic. Selphie has been killed in a tragic accident and the Garden are mourning her passing. But eerie events are afoot, as the dead are reanimated. Yes, like Selphie... THIS STORY IS BACK FROM THE DEAD!
1. Chapter 1

Squall of the Dead – A Final Fantasy VIII rom-com-zom fanfic.

Chapter One

In the damp gloom of Balamb cemetery, the Garden's finest, who had valiantly battled against the Sorceress Ultimecia, twelve months previously, were gathered solemnly around a freshly dug grave, heads bowed in sorrow and remembrance.

One person was missing from the ranks of the elite members of SeeD. The bubbly, spunky, green-eyed ball of energy, Selphie Tilmett, could not be seen. Her bright yellow hotpant outfit, so easily spotted even on such a dismal day as this, was conspicuously absent. She was, however, among her comrades, even if it was in a mahogany casket with brass fittings, being slowly lowered into a cold, dank hole in the ground.

"…and now we commit the body of our sister Selphie to the ground. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…"

The promise of eternal resurrection in the name of Hyne passed Irvine by as he grabbed a handful of dirt from the wooden box handed to him by the sympathetic, black-suited pallbearer. Watching as the brown dust slipped through his fingers, he thought sadly of the evening preceding his beloved Selphie's death.

There had been a party atmosphere buzzing within Garden, in anticipation of the first anniversary of SeeD's greatest victory, Ultimecia's defeat. All week there had been all kinds of events to commemorate the occasion, including a "Battle of the Bands" concert, organised by Selphie and her Festival Committee, featuring musical ensembles from all three of the world's Gardens, and a carnival for the junior classmen, including stalls, games and a bouncy castle – although Selphie herself proved that the young cadets shouldn't be the ones to hog all the fun, tugging off her boots and flinging herself onto the inflatable fortress, her signature "Whoo hoo!" being heard all around the island.

These festivities had culminated in the Great Ball, to which all SeeD members and older cadets had been invited. Irvine was the most excited about this occasion, because he had some plans.

He had talked about it excitedly with his good friends Zell Dincht, who had rigged up the spotlights the way Irvine had asked; Quistis Trepe, who had given him wonderful and practical advice about how he should act at a formal dance (as a former street kid who did most of his growing up at a military academy, Irvine was not exactly _au fais _with posh ceremonies); and most of all, from Rinoa Heartilly, who had helped him in doing the biggest, and most important job of all: choosing the ring.

For he was to propose to Selphie.

Irvine blinked back tears as he thought of that moment. The music has dissipated, the twinkling of the stars and the mirror ball reflected on his nervously perspiring face, and the spotlight illuminated his intended (Zell had got the job just right, with a touch of masking tape, and Quistis' exceptional geometry skills). Beautiful Selphie, resplendent in a blue ballgown, styled and straightened hair spritzed with glitter, green eyes wide in wonder, and sudden nervousness. "What?" she gasped as she tried to move, self consciously, out of the light. But thanks to Zell's ingenious programming, it followed her. "Oh my _gosh_!"

Irvine remembered the way Selphie had gawped at him in the second spotlight, his sweaty hand clutching a microphone and the other, slightly damper hand, nervously flipping open a leather-bound, velvet lined box. Inside was a gold band, with a large sparkling diamond, setting off the golden ring perfectly.

"So like, um…" Irvine had started nervously. "I'm here tonight to ask a special girl a very important question." He licked his dry lips and tried to surreptitiously clear his equally dry throat. Momentarily, he forgot about the microphone and his coughs echoed about the hall. He approached the lovely Selphie, spotlight tracking him all the while.

"So um… like… Selphie Tilmett…" Irvine announced, finally kneeling at her feet once the two lights had merged into one. "Will you… marry me?" he croaked, presenting the box to Selphie.

Selphie's eyes grew even wider, and her jaw dropped in delight. Zell rushed over and shoved a microphone under the aghast Selphie's nose.

She gasped and gaped for a minute longer. "So…" Irvine asked again. "Will you…?" _Please say yes, _he inwardly thought. He could take the humiliation if she _did_ say no, but he didn't want her to say it. Because he wanted to be with her for the rest of her life.

Tragically that day had already come to pass, all too soon.

Running across Balamb High Street the next day, in an attempt to reach her fiancé on the other side of the road, Eager and longing to be in his arms, she had dashed out into the road, not noticing that a lorry, laden with hot dogs, bound for Balamb Garden's kitchens was trundling towards her at a great speed…

Irvine clutched a rose he had been handed to throw into the grave. He crushed the stem in his fist and winced as the thorns dug into his palm. The pain hurt so much, yet it could not numb the hurt of losing his betrothed.

Irvine could no longer bear to hold the flower any longer, so relented his grip. The withered flower tumbled on top of the coffin, followed, unconsciously, by a few drops of his blood.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Squall Leonhart, who had acted as Selphie's mentor when she had first transferred to Balamb from frosty Trabia a mere eighteen months ago, glanced across the grave at the tall, blond Seifer Almasy, who was hand in hand with their former instructor, Quistis Trepe. Ignoring the stab of jealousy he felt as Seifer stroked Quistis' hair as she fell onto his shoulder in tears. He couldn't help but notice how gorgeous his erstwhile nemesis looked in a properly laundered suit, and a black morning jacket rather than his usual grey trench coat. Recently, he had become a source of comfort to Squall, whose girlfriend Rinoa was becoming tiresome.

"She's a right moody bitch, lately," he confided to Seifer over a pint of beer in the bar of the Balamb Hotel, (well, Seifer would drink beer; Squall's drink of choice was Bacardi and Coke).

"She won't listen to a word I say," Squall would whinge. "She'd rather be gossiping to Sefie and Quisty." (the thought of Selphie pained him as he stood by the graveside.) "And I feel so left out, Seifer. God, sometimes I just _hate_ the woman! What am I gonna do, man?"

Usually Seifer would give him some unhelpful advice on how to get their romance back on track, such as buying her flowers, taking her out, and then having hot sex in the Garden library, surrounded by her second love, books. But the thought of making love to his girlfriend made him feel sick. What Squall really craved was Seifer; to feel his arms around him, more passionate than the bear-hugs he would usually give Squall before he went running home to Quistis, who, at the graveside, was now bravely squeezing Seifer's hand, doing her best to hold back the remainder of her tears. He obviously had not told her yet.

A week ago, the night Selphie had been hit and killed by that hot dog van, Squall was bitching about Rinoa, this time about how he had shouted at her; this time for rearranging the furniture in their tiny apartment in Balamb Harbour which they had been sharing for the past ten months. Finally, Seifer had said the words Squall had been longing to hear:

"Leave her then," he'd said as casually as he could, "and come away with me. I know how you feel, because I've felt the same about you for a number of years."

The atmosphere seemed magic as they touched hands beneath the table, and Squall could control his passion no longer. Seeing that Seifer had nearly finished his drink, Squall drained his almost full glass, grabbed Seifer's hand, and led him out of the bar. One outside, he pinned his beautiful tall blond friend up against the rustic brickwork, and kissed him firmly on the lips.

Seifer's steely blue eyes stared back into Squall's, and his tongue rubbed invitingly upon his thin top lip.

"I've been waiting for you for so long, Squall," he whispered.

Squall returned Seifer's revelation with a rare smile. "Really?" he asked.

Seifer wrapped his strong arms around Squall's waist, pulling his sinewy body closer. He felt Squall's arousal against his leg, and sucked in his breath, as he felt himself getting hard in return. "Yes," he whispered, reaching down, brushing his hand over Squall's leather-clad bottom. "For ten whole years I've had a crush on you," His lips brushed against Squall's cheek. "I thought my feelings would fade away as I got older but… they didn't. They got stronger, Squall. So strong, I wanted to tell someone. But I didn't want anyone, not even Raijin and Fujin to know. So I started that rivalry with you to mask my true feelings and I…"

Squall gently hushed Seifer with another heartfelt kiss. "None of that matters now, babe," he whispered in Seifer's ear, his lips gently nuzzling the earlobe." Now, we have a choice to make a go of it… together." He pressed his body against Seifer, squeezing him tightly around the waist, his fingers sliding slowly down Seifer's waistband.

Seifer, fingering the scar on Squall's soft, sweet face, "it's no good," he panted, trying to think of unsexy things to make his arousal go away. Meanwhile, he was thinking about some of the butt-ugly monsters he'd had to fight to get as far as he did, to become the Sorceress' Knight, the commander of the second largest army in the world, and finally breaking out on his own as a lone, self-styled 'revolutionary.' _Buels, Caterchapillas and those oh-so hideous Wendigos._

Squall, battling a similar problem, was finding it hard to control. With his lips on Seifer's, whose hand was brushing against are, exposed flesh on Squall's midriff, their tongues gently exploring the taste of each others' mouths, and hearing the sighs of pleasure and the heavy nasal sighs of his long time foe, now seemingly turned lover, every single move Seifer made against his body seemed to be magnified tenfold. Every time his tongue slid against Squall's or Seifer's rough fingertips stroked Squall's torso, it made him feel more and more desperate to lead Seifer into a nearby forest or onto the deserted beach (hang the T-Rexaurs and the Fastitocalons!) and make love to him in complete solitude, where only Mother Nature would know about their love, and where they could be safe in the knowledge that she would never tell.

Squall's problem was solved at once by a terrible screech of brakes, a loud, drawn out banging noise, and a cacophony of shouts. Amongst the distant shouting he clearly heard the distressed cries of the nubile cowboy Irvine: "Selphie? _Selphie?_ Oh, God, somebody help her. Please… somebody help her…"

Almost instantly, he let go of Seifer, who was at first reluctant to reciprocate. "Squall," he moaned, "don't go."

Squall pulled himself firmly out of Seifer's clutches. There were tears welling up in his eyes, torn between his distressed friends, and his forbidden carnal desire.

"I'm sorry," Squall croaked, "but my friends need me."

Seifer, noticing how upset Squall appeared, gathered him in a brief, warm embrace. "Listen Squall," he said. "I'm gonna get a room in the hotel. I'll text you my room number, and we can talk there, 'kay?" He pecked Squall on the lips, although Squall could tell talking was furthest from Seifer's mind. "I love you."

"Love you, too," Squall whispered back, before sprinting in the direction of the incident.

When he got there, he could see an FH FresH! Catering Company van lying on its side, back doors hanging off their hinges, its load of hot dogs bound for the Garden's canteen strewn across the road. Two men and a woman Squall knew by sight (they worked at the garage) were trying to pull Irvine back from violently pistol-whipping the driver of the van who was rooted to the spot, deathly pale, face shining with cold sweat, bloodshot eyes manically staring at his would-be assailant, as he absently tried to nurse a wound to his head with his sleeve. Worst of all, amongst the mess of thawing meat by-products, lay a motionless figure, wearing yellow hotpant dungarees, and brown knee-length boots.

Selphie would have looked like she was dozing, were it not for the awkward angle of her neck and legs. Squall knew in an instant that she was dead. He was tempted to run back to Seifer and hope that a lovemaking session with him would clear his mind of this carnage. But Irvine needed him. A few carefully chosen words would make him see that attacking the driver would be pointless; the man would have to live with the fact that he had killed Selphie, and that was punishment enough.

"Irvine!" Squall hollered over the sound of distant sirens. "Please! Stop it!"

The cowboy stopped struggling against the garage staff, and glanced at Squall.

"Thank Hyne you're here!" he said breathlessly. "Tell me Selphie's all right! Tell me she's gonna be fine! Help her!"

But no amount of Phoenix Downs or Life magic could help her now. It was too late. "I'm sorry," Squall tried to blink back tears.

"It's okay," Irvine said shakily, grabbing Squall's shoulders. "You're here now… you can help her, you can make her better again."

Squall remained as calm as he possibly could. "I can't," he quavered. "It's too late."

"Too late for what?" Irvine yelled, shaking Squall a little, seemingly oblivious to the police squad car, and the two ambulances that had just arrived on the scene. "C'mon, you've got tons of Life magic! Use it, damn it! _Use it_!"

"You don't understand…" Squall whispered. "Selphie… she…"

Irvine began sinking to his knees in front of Squall. In any other situation, this would have been Squall's idea of heaven, but the desperate Irvine was convinced that Squall could help him. However, he could not.

A young paramedic was tending to the shocked driver, with the remaining three were crowded around Selphie's lifeless corpse. Carefully, they lifted her body onto a stretcher, and covered her up with a red blanket.

Upon finally noticing them, Irvine jumped to his feet. "Look at that," he said angrily, pushing Squall away. "At least they're helping her. They're helping her, which is more than you did. Hey!" Turning on his heel, he began to stride towards the ambulance, which was preparing to take Selphie away. "Is she going to be all right? I'm her fiancé. Please tell me she's okay."

"I'm sorry, sir," a middle aged paramedic told him, "but your fiancé …"

"Selphie!" snapped Irvine.

The paramedic eyed Irvine, a little irritated. "Selphie," he corrected himself rather sharply. "Selphie is likely to have died instantaneously," he explained in a softer, more sympathetic voice. "I'm sorry, mate…"

Irvine's face drained of colour, and he began to shake his head slowly. "No…no…_no!_" he screamed. The scream became an horrific crescendo, which sounded more like a wounded Anacondaur than a human.

A tall policeman approached and motioned to the ambulance man. "All right, you're cleared to return to the hospital. We'll take it from here." He removed his hat revealing dark wavy hair, which he swept back quickly with his hand. Blinking a couple of times, he crouched down next to the prostrate Irvine, who was banging his fists, which were becoming bloodied, onto the concrete. "Here," he said, reaching out to Irvine, and pulling the tearful sharpshooter off the pavement, and out of his tantrum. "I'm PC Bryce, and I'll be in charge of investigating this incident. Now, I realise this is going to be difficult for you," he said to Irvine, "but as the closest known relative of the deceased… I mean… your fiancé…" He took a breath; glad he had changed his wording, as he didn't feel like upsetting a man brandishing a shotgun. "You will be required to identify the body. Is that okay?" He smiled weakly at Irvine, who turned away and shot an icy look at Squall. "Yeah," he growled. "Yeah."

"PC Rawlinson and I will take you in the squad car," he said gently. "All right?"

Irvine nodded.

As he was led to the car, he turned to glower at school. Nodding in his direction he told the police: "There's your man! Squall Leonhart! He just stood by and let her die! I pleaded for him to help but he wouldn't…"

"Okay, calm down," PC Bryce tried to appease the furious Irvine.

"I'll have you, Leonhart!" Irvine hollered as he climbed into the police car. "I'll have you, you murderer! You see if I don't!"

With the police car gone, and only another ambulance and a tow-truck remaining, Squall stalked away. Feeling something vibrate in his pocket, he reached to check his phone. It was a message from Seifer, as he had promised:

Room 203. Can't w8 2 cu. ILY.

No longer consumed by passionate lust, but now feeling the need to talk to someone, Squall ran all the way back to the hotel, and leapt up the stairs to the hotel, and leapt up the stairs to the room where he knew his lover would be waiting.

Seifer opened the door with a lusty grin, which immediately dissolved the moment he saw Squall's tear-streaked face and damp, bloodshot eyes.

"Oh, shit," Seifer sighed. "What happened?"

Squall wanted to explain that Selphie was dead, killed in a tragic accident, and Irvine, desperate for help, and in denial, blamed him for not intervening, but he couldn't. Instead, he burst into tears.

"Oh… Squall," Seifer took him into a warm embrace to comfort his tearful lover. "Baby, what happened?" He stroked Squall's soft auburn hair, twirling strands around his fingers. He kissed Squall, who wilfully removed his jacket.

Unable to talk, Squall shook his head. Seifer led him to the bed, and helped him onto it. He climbed onto it next to Squall and held him close.

"Tell me what happened," he whispered, curling Squall's locks over his left ear. "Please. There's gotta be a reason why you're so…"

Squall sunk his head into Seifer's lap. He smiled as he got the message; Squall didn't really want to talk about it.

"That's okay," Seifer whispered. "You tell me when you're good and ready." He sighed and relaxed, as he petted Squall's silky hair.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The ballroom now had a very different atmosphere to that of a week ago. Gone were the celebrationary banners, disco lights and glitter ball, now replaced by black drapes and subdued lighting. At one end of the hall was a large framed photograph of Selphie, surrounded by flowers and other tributes. Among these was a large teddy bear, donated by the orphans of Trabia, to whom Selphie had shown such kindness when the Sorceress' missiles set upon their only home. The not sent with the two-foot plush said:

_You are watching over us now, Selphie. Sleep well. We miss you._

Zell stood by the buffet table, but instead of stuffing himself with mini hot dogs and Balamb fish and mayonnaise sandwiches, he merely stared at the canapés and appetisers. He was hungry, yet he could not bring himself to. In fact he hadn't eaten properly since Selphie…

"Are you okay, Zell?" a soft voice asked. She seemed very far away.

"Quistis?" Zell replied, startled. His stomach cramped and he felt light-headed. "Where are you?"

Quistis' blurred shape came into form. She was just inches away from Zell's face. Zell noticed her warmth, and a small smile appeared on his tattooed face, for the first time in days. "Hey, Quistis," he croaked, sounding a little more like his usual chirpy self. "Getting a bit close, aren't we? What would Seifer say?"

Quistis' face remained serious. This was no time for jokes. "Zell, I'm worried about you," she said. "Mrs. Watts from the cafeteria says she hasn't seen you since…" The event of Selphie's death went unspoken, as if superstition dictated that, should the matter and manner of their friend's all to premature demise be discussed, a great evil would somehow be unleashed upon the world.

"I'm not hungry," Zell lied.

Quistis saw right through him. "You are, Zell" she corrected him. "Otherwise, why would you be standing here?" She held out a sausage roll to him, which he gratefully accepted.

"I can't help but feel partly responsible for what happened to Selphie," he finally confided. "You see, I know I wasn't there and all, but if I hadn't been eating so many hot dogs… the cafeteria wouldn't have needed that delivery, the van wouldn't have been there to…" His voice cracked as he tried to finish his sentence, but before he could, the tears he had tried manly, stoically, to stem the flow of for over a week, could no longer be abated.

"Zell…" Quistis embraced her tearful friend. "Is that what all this is about?"

Letting go of Quistis and looking into her sea-blue eyes, Zell nodded.

Quistis handed Zell a sandwich, which he wolfed down immediately. "Listen, this was in no way your fault," she told him. "What happened, happened, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"But…" Zell protested.

"Look, for all we know, it could have been a lorry of medical supplies heading for the Garden," Quistis suggested. "If it was, do you think Doctor Kadowaki would have blamed herself?"

Zell stared back at Quistis, her face coming more and more into focus as he helped himself to a cheese vol-au-vent.

"Of course she wouldn't have," Quistis answered for him. "She wouldn't have, because Garden needs medical supplies, just as students need food. So you see, Zell, you mustn't blame yourself."

Zell sighed, chowing down on a handful of corn chips. "I guess you're right, he mumbled, spraying crumbs everywhere.

"Zell," Quistis continued, "I was going to call it a night. I think it'll do you good to get out of here to." She grabbed a plate, piled some sandwiches and nibbles upon it. She handed it to Zell. "I know it's not the healthiest food in the world, but I want you to eat this back in your dorm, all right?"

Zell nodded.

"And not a scrap of it goes in the bin, understand?" Quistis chided soothingly. "Not even the olives. Promise me."

"Yeah," Zell stared, depressed, down at his food.

"I'll see you back to your dorm," Quistis said gently, putting an arm around Zell, and leading him out of the hall.

"Will you look at that?" Seifer whispered to a stoic Squall, who was leaning languidly against a wall, seductively clutching the stem of a wine glass.

Squall, not used to being snuck up on, squeezed the glass in surprise, a little too hard. The fragile stem shattered in his hand. "What?" he snapped, trying not to wince with the pain of the thick glass cutting into his palm.

"Quistis and Zell," Seifer continued, unabated by Squall's slight fury, as he nodded in the direction of the pair, as they wandered out of the hall. "I knew it! I knew that there was something going on! I can't wait to finish with her!" he finished angrily. He looked at Squall, noticing that _his_ girlfriend wasn't with him, which he was pleased about; he had Squall all to himself. "Where's Rinoa?" he asked.

"She went home," Squall sighed. "She said that she was too upset to come, and she wanted some time alone, to remember Selphie in her own way."

Seifer rolled his eyes. "That sounds like Rinoa all right!" he sighed, amused.

There was silence between the two as Seifer contemplated taking Squall in his arms and kissing him passionately, not caring who saw them. He could always use the emotional nature of the day as an excuse.

Squall, on the other hand, was glad he'd cut his hand. It would give him an excuse to blow Seifer off, without having to face his wrath at his rejection. What had happened between them on the night of Selphie's death had been an awful mistake that the confused and upset Squall had made. He had tried, quite successfully to avoid Seifer all week. Luckily for him Seifer had not been angry and vengeful, rather seen it as Squall's reaction to the awful tragedy, and hoped to see him again as soon as he was over it. What Seifer didn't realise was that, apart from the fact that Selphie's absence would take a while to get used to, Squall was deeply ashamed of what he had done in that hotel room that night, and had been avoiding Seifer on these grounds. He walked across the hall and pushed open the double swing-doors with his uninjured hand.

Before Squall could pace over to Doctor Kadowaki's office, a hand grabbed his bloodied and injured one. Squall winced, and turned to face the culprit. It was Seifer.

"Hey, I know," Seifer said to him, enjoying the fact that Squall's blood was dribbling onto his skin. "Is Rinoa expecting you home tonight?"

"No…" Squall replied, the pain from his hand creeping up the sinews in his wrist. "I said I'd stay over in my old dorm room, so as not to disturb her." He attempted to tug his hand away from Seifer's relentless grip. "Now, listen…"

"That's great!" Seifer enthused, cutting Squall off. "How's about… you leave now, so people don't get suspicious of us, and meet me in the Secret Area in ten minutes?" He was hoping for another sensuous encounter with pretty Squall. He craved his warmth beside him, and wanted to hold, soothe and comfort him.

Squall snatched his injured hand away from Seifer, which only made the situation worse. He shook his hand, as if trying to shake off the pain, and some of his blood spattered all over Seifer's crisp, white shirt.

"Whatever," he croaked, as he turned and ran down the corridor, thick burgundy blood dripping from his injured hand.

Meanwhile, Quistis had retired to her dorm room and, was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. Unhitching her hair with her free hand she shook her head briskly. The day Selphie had passed was meant to be a happy, triumphant day. There had been a wedding in the pipeline and Quistis had finally been reinstated as an instructor after over a year of dilly-dallying by Cid. She had to retake all those tests to actually get her licence back, just when she had thought she would never have to retake another exam. It was hateful, it was stressful, but it was all worth it.

She spit, gargled and rinsed before wandering into her bedroom. She rolled into bed, and read the Garden newsletter for a while, all full of the pleasant memories of the previous week, before her eyelids became heavy. She threw her glasses onto her bedside table and reached to switch off her halogen bed lamp. But before she could touch the switch, she heard a hefty bang on her dorm room door, which shook the whole wall. Although it was a single partition wall, separating the dorms from the corridor, no human could have caused it to tremble as such.

Quistis jumped out of bed, put her glasses back on and grabbed her whip from its holster, hanging by her bed, to investigate this noise. Perhaps it was a monster that had escaped the Training Centre? Yes, that seemed to be the most likely explanation.

Suddenly, the banging resumed, only this time harder and louder than before. Quistis stepped back, sure that the monster would burst in through the wall any minute. Sure enough, the wall began to splinter; a persistent hammering on it and the wood began to give way.

Preparing to subdue the monster, Quistis readied her weapon and watched as the gap between the door and its frame became wider and wider. The wooden door crunched and cracked, and eventually broke in half.

_Come on, motherfucker,_ she muttered to herself. _I'm ready for you_.

But no state of readiness could ever have prepared Quistis for what she saw.

A sallow, dirty figure with dead, staring white eyes lurched towards her, moaning sorrowfully. The stench emanating from this being was incredible. Like wet earth, mixed with mouldy fruit and rank meat. Though blood was dripping from its mouth, it looked human; it was wearing a dirty, torn blue dress, and its hair was kinked up at the ends. On the ring finger of its left hand, was a once-shiny, mud tarnished diamond ring, just like the one Irvine had presented to…

"Selphie?" Quistis gasped, as the being, with superhuman strength, clamped its hands on Quistis' shoulders, and pinned her against the wall so she couldn't move. Not that it mattered; Quistis was frozen in terror anyway.

The being leaned its head sideways, and brought its rotten looking teeth towards Quistis' neck. The scream that Quistis tried to emit was lost when the creature's jaws clamped into her throat, tearing her larynx from its rightful place.

Quistis silently slid down the wall, leaving a trail of blood as she went, her sightless blue eyes wide and wild. Quistis knew no more as the monster that resembled Selphie, sucked and shrugged at the gash in her throat, only leaving once its voracious appetite had been sated.

Quistis was left bloodless and rotting in an undignified pose, leaning open-legged against the wall, the very last of her blood dripping onto the floor, creating a pool between her legs.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Police Constable Ashley Bryce yawned and opened his sticky eyes as his pager buzzed and bleeped on his bedside table. _Oh, shit, _he sighed inwardly, wishing he had held back on the Living Dead cocktail of vodka, Sambucha and coffee liqueur, which he had been downing all night at Attica, Deling City's trendy bar-club.

Reaching out to read what all the fuss was about, he glanced at his empty pillow, as he had vaguely remembered getting into bed with at least on woman the previous night. Sure enough, lipstick and mascara clung to the otherwise lilywhite pillowcase, which told him that, sure enough, he had spent the night with a female. At least he hoped it had been a female. Why did this always happen? What was it with Attica? Whenever he went there he always managed to pull (and usually shag!) some incredibly gorgeous woman, who was always gone by morning, with nothing but make-up stained sheets and a soggy condom in the bed as a reminder. One conquest of his had even left her bra behind but, for some reason, had never returned for it.

_Why?_ Bryce thought as he grabbed his pager. Was he that crap a ride? Was he so hideously ugly, that the women he pulled couldn't stand to be with him once he had sobered up? As he glanced at the pager, he rolled his eyes.

"Oh, for Hyne's sake, Dave!" he cursed as he read the number '1664'; the code for 'Emergency Situation: Contact Sergeant Rawlinson Immediately.' "What the shit do you want from me on a Sunday morning?"

Reluctantly, he reached for his mobile phone, switched off by his bedside. As he switched it on and waited for the phone to ready itself, then dialled his sergeant's desk, he yawned once again and wished that once, just once, the girl he pulled, whomever she might be, would stay. Just for a little while. It would give him a much-needed ego-boost, companionship and… something to do in the morning!

All sexual thoughts were blown like cobwebs from his mind when his commanding sergeant, David Rawlinson, answered in a terse manner.

"Bryce?" Rawlinson boomed in a voice overflowing with something that made Bryce think that this was going to be bad news. "Thank you for calling back so promptly. I wouldn't normally bother you on your weekend off," Bryce had a sneaking suspicion that Rawlinson knew about his drunken nights of passion. "But this is a serious matter."

Bryce groaned. "Not the Garden kids again," he sighed. He had found the Headmaster, Cid Kramer, to be most uncooperative and unbecoming during the fallout of the accident that had caused the death of one of the students there.

"As a matter of fact, it is," Rawlinson told him. "There has been a serious incident, and a murder suspect is currently being detained in the Garden's disciplinary wing.

Bryce rolled his eyes. "So," he sighed. "What are _we _supposed to do?"

"We shall go down to the Garden," Rawlinson said, "and interview the suspect."

"Sounds simple enough," Bryce croaked.

"One more thing," Rawlinson added. "This suspect… is a young man, considered dangerous. That's why Headmaster Kramer has asked us to actually interview the suspect on the premises. For our own safety."

Bryce's stomach turned, and it was nothing to do with the dodgy cocktails. "Must we go there?" he asked, with a heavy heart. "Couldn't we just take this suspect back to the police station in Deling City? There's a unit there specifically for violent prisoners."

"I'm afraid Headmaster Kramer was quite adamant about keeping the suspect on Garden ground. I guess military academies want to deal with situations in their own way."

Bryce groaned again. The day was getting worse and worse, and he hadn't even set one foot out of bed yet. That disagreeable Headmaster wanted everything his own way. Well, not anymore. He was going to stand up to this pompous arsehole, and take this boy into custody, no matter how dangerous he might be. Bryce had been in this job for five years, and he would do anything to prove himself.

Rawlinson suddenly interrupted his reverie. "So, I'll meet you by the harbour, with the squad car, in half an hour. In uniform, okay?"

"Yes, sir," Bryce sighed, remembering the time he had turned up to take a statement from an old lady in Winhill who had been burgled, wearing a T-shirt and barbecue sauce stained jeans – he was so hung over he had completely forgotten that such an important call for a vulnerable citizen required a good impression, and also a uniform.

Bryce hung up and hauled his naked form out of bed. He felt unusually unclean, and he had an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He didn't even want to think about the sick, degrading sexual practises he had inflicted on this night out's girl… or girls. He ran to the bathroom to cleanse his body, if not his promiscuous soul.

Slightly more refreshed, Bryce stared out to sea, leaning on the cast-iron fence of the marina. The bracing sea breeze made him forget his headache, and the salty air soothed his guilty, tainted mind. _Rawlinson should be here any moment, _he thought, deciding to reluctantly turn his back on Balamb's spectacular sea view, and actually watch for Rawlinson's squad car.

Glancing towards the posh marina flats (if only he were promoted to Sergeant, then he would be able to afford one!), his eye caught the sight of a beautiful girl with long black hair set off by red highlights. She was dressed in a long, flowing, blue woollen coat with an elaborate angel wing motif on the back, black vest top and short denim skirt, coyly accompanied by a pair of skin-tight shorts. _Jesus, _thought Bryce, _she's certainly got the figure for it. _He watched as she stalked across the marina square, clutching a large folder to her chest. She must have noticed Bryce staring at her, because she shot him a contemptuous look. Her sad brown eyes were filled with absolute incredulity toward her admirer; he guessed that she'd either had a hard time with her boyfriend, or the aforementioned boyfriend had just broken up with her. Bryce hoped to Hyne the latter was true.

At that moment, Rawlinson's Fiat Panda pulled into the square, and honked for Bryce's attention. Reluctantly taking his eyes off the girl's tight denim and Lycra-clad bottom, Bryce strolled towards the waiting car.

"Still eyeing up the talent, are ya?" remarked Sergeant David Rawlinson, winding down the window. "I thought you'd left your womanising days behind you.

Bryce sighed. "Not quite," he said wistfully. "Perhaps it's time." He reached for the door handle, but Rawlinson reached across and locked the door.

"It's not worth you getting in," he told Bryce.

"Oh?" Bryce answered, trying to cover his annoyance. "So you got me out of bed for nothing?"

"Well… I've got some good news and some bad news for you." Rawlinson explained. "The good news is that you don't have to come with me to Garden.

"Thank God!" Bryce breathed, relieved that he didn't have to deal with that pompous, self-important, so-called Headmaster.

"However," Rawlinson continued, his face becoming more serious. "I've just been radioed as to a murder on Garden Way, the main residential street in Balamb town. There have been three people, two women and a young boy, at Number Two, found dead. Massacred apparently. Blood everywhere…." Rawlinson took a breath as if to compose himself having delivered the shocking and sad news. "Anyway, I want you to assist forensics, who are on the scene now, and report to me the cause and time of death, and interview the neighbours to ascertain a preliminary list of suspects."

Bryce shuddered. "Dead people?" he quavered. "You want me to help around… dead people?"

Rawlinson nodded. "It's part of the job," he sighed, "and it's something you've not yet experienced."

Bryce tried to straighten out his horrified face, as Rawlinson revved up the car's engine. "Don't worry," he reassured Bryce. "You'll do fine. See you later, Ash."

And with that, he wound up the window and drove off, towards Garden.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

A/N: A lot happens in this chapter, so it is a bit long. I'll try not to make this a habit!

Headmaster Cid Kramer stared coldly at the young man seated before him at the other side of the fixed steel desk. Sergeant Rawlinson sat beside the Headmaster, tape recorder at the ready.

"Let me present you with the evidence again, Mr. Almasy," he growled. "You, in the corridor, in a confused state, covered in blood, minus your weapon. Just yards away, your girlfriend, Quistis Trepe, lay helplessly bleeding, dying, after someone had kicked through the partition wall, slit her throat and left her for dead. I put it to you, Mr. Almasy, that someone was you."

The suited, bespectacled man next to Seifer tapped his shoulder and muttered, "You don't have to answer that question."

"What question?" Seifer snarled. "What _question?_ That bastard didn't ask me a question. He's just throwing accusations at me. Look, I already told you, I did _not_ kill Quistis. All right?"

Cid snorted. "Your outburst is indicative of your guilt, Almasy," he sneered. "Your relationship with Miss Trepe was going sour, so you decided to end it the only way you knew how… by killing her."

Seifer's fury bubbled to the surface. "How dare you!" he screamed. "How dare you bring my relationship with Quistis into this!" After a tap on the shoulder from his brief, Seifer calmed down a little. "I already told you, I'd been waiting in the Secret Area in the Training Centre for someone, with a bottle of wine, and when h… this person didn't turn up, I drank the wine straight from the bottle in five minutes. I must have left my gunblade in the Training Centre and passed out on the way back." He glared at Cid, who glared back.

"There was no trace of your Hyperion anywhere within the Training Centre, and this so-called Secret Area," Cid replied, enjoying Seifer's humiliation, hoping to trap him into confessing something, so he could get rid of this unruly student for good. "Try to explain this little hole in your alibi."

"I don't know!" spluttered Seifer. "I was drunk! Maybe a monster ate it!"

"And you expect me, to cut open every monster in there, which I've paid good money for in order to keep this academy going, just to prove you innocence?" Cid barked. "I don't think so, Almasy."

Rawlinson, himself a little annoyed by Cid's interrogation techniques, decided to say something. "We will take care of that if need be, Mr Almasy, but another issue is the blood found on your clothing after Miss Trepe's murder. If it wasn't Quistis', then whose was it?"

Seifer paused. He couldn't say what he had done when he had grabbed Squall's bloodied hand; how he had cherished the plasma of the man he loved! How he had waited all night for him, and how hurt he'd been when Squall had not shown up. In his rage he had tossed his Hyperion somewhere - exactly where he truly had forgotten – and trundled sadly back to his own room, but had passed out on the way. It was the truth, yet he could not speak it. Such forbidden love should stay secret.

Rawlinson sighed. "You must tell us, Mr Almasy," he said, quietly but authoritatively. "We have to know, before we give the forensic results in, so we don't have to hold you. And because you were drunk, and regarding your missing weapon, your alibi is so hazy we really cannot eliminate you from our enquiries until you…"

Seifer had had enough. He was trapped. He had no other choice but to tell the truth. "All right!" he hollered. "I'll tell you what you want to hear!"

"Here it comes," snorted Cid contemptuously, "the big confession."

"The blood… Seifer began, "was Squall Leonhart's." Yes, he would make Squall seem like the guilty party. It would serve him right for breaking his heart last night. "He… purposefully injured his hand and spilt blood on my clothing when I was semi-conscious… to make it look like I had done it… when in fact it was h…"

Seifer was rudely interrupted by an urgent banging on the door. "Headmaster Cid!" a girl's voice called out. "We have another police officer to see you urgently. He has information which my clear Seifer."

Cid tutted. "Send him in, Rinoa," he growled, almost angry at the fact Seifer had more evidence in his favour.

The steel door creaked open and in walked Bryce, ashen-faced and sweating. Not even the presence of the beautiful girl named Rinoa, secretary to the Headmaster, the girl who had crossed the marina earlier, could soothe him after the horrors he had witnessed. He cleared his throat.

"The three victims sustained similar injuries to those which caused Miss Trepe's death," he announced. "The murders took place at around seven-thirty this morning, whilst Mr Almasy was in custody. An unkempt girl was seen wandering away from the scene, so I must deduce that Mr Almasy is innocent."

"Of those three, maybe," argued Cid. "He is still the prime suspect in the murder of Miss Trepe."

The feverish Bryce shook his head. "No, Headmaster," he told Cid, deadpan. "Forensics tell me that the injuries inflicted on these three show that the same… implement… was used to kill Miss Trepe…"

A smile broke out on Rawlinson's face. "And since Hyperion is missing, this clears Mr Almasy completely. You're free to go, Seifer." He shot the Headmaster an indignant look.

Cid, his dream of finally expelling Seifer for good shattered, at least for now, sighed and said, "Very well, Almasy. But any more trouble from you, and you're done with this Garden. Understood?"

"Understood," Seifer smirked, getting to his feet, and shaking his lawyer's hand. Pushing past Bryce, he strutted from the room. Rawlinson could have sworn he saw Seifer extend the back of his middle finger as he left, a gesture he knew wasn't meant for him.

"Interview terminated, 11.23," Rawlinson intoned towards the tape recorder, before finally switching it off. "Now, Headmaster," he continued. "I would like to interview this Squall character, if I may. If Seifer's weapon was not responsible for these murders, then perhaps your other gunblade handler might be able to shed light on the matter."

Bryce started breathing quickly. "You don't understand, Sergeant," he said. "Forensics have deduced that it couldn't possibly have been a gunblade that inflicted these injuries."

Rawlinson and Cid both frowned in confusion.

"What kind of knife was it?" Cid asked. "We'll have the entire island searched to find out the perpetrator of these terrible crimes! Every sharp implement will be confiscated!"

Rawlinson exhaled sharply through pursed lips and shook his head. "There's no need to take such measures, Headmaster Kramer," he said, doing well to keep from throttling Cid.

"It… It wasn't even a knife," Bryce explained. "It was more like teeth marks… human teeth marks. Apparently, the victims have had their throats effectively… bitten out."

This time it was Cid's turn to go pale. "M-monstrous!" he stammered, starting to shake in horror. "What would drive someone to kill people in this way?"

Rawlinson opened his mouth to say: _That's what we're going to try and do! _But his phone ringing saved him from making such a grievous error. "Excuse me," he said, standing up and walking out of the room, phone to his ear. "Rawlinson," he answered. "Ah, Pastor Williams, how can I help you…?" He headed down the corridor to finish his call.

Bryce was left alone with Cid and the pretty girl from the marina. The shaken Cid took a moment to acknowledge his presence. "Rinoa," he said. "Please take this gentleman elsewhere to finish his affairs. My office will be sufficient."

"Certainly, sir," Rinoa said. "Follow me, Inspector."

Bryce blushed. He had never been called 'Inspector' before.

"So, what more do you have to do here?" Rinoa asked, as if she were interested. She' and Cid, wanted the police out of Garden as soon as possible. Having cops hanging around a military academy did not give a very positive message to the world.

"Well…" Bryce began, planning a vaguely intelligent conversation with this Rinoa, in the hope of impressing her. "First I will need to see one of the students, er…" He looked at his notebook. "Zell Dincht. It appears that his family was involved in the murder. And then…"

"Okay, Inspector," Rinoa said, "I shall send for Zell immediately. Please take a seat and wait here." She swept out of the room as if she couldn't wait to leave.

_Not again!_ Bryce sighed to himself. What was wrong with him? Was he cursed with some woman repellent barrier, which only relented itself when he was inebriated? Was he really _that_ boring? Or was it something worse? He raised his arm and surreptitiously sniffed under his arm. Nope, everything in order there.

After a while of Bryce thinking about how he could win Rinoa's trust, and hopefully her heart, the door creaked open. _Just as well_, thought Bryce. He had plenty of ideas, none of them any good.

"Zell, this is Inspector Rawlinson," Rinoa told the worried-looking, stocky blond boy. "He wants to see you about a private matter."

Bryce smiled weakly. "Hello, Zell," he said gently. "Take a seat."

"Th-thank you, Inspector," Zell said, shuffling into the office, and grabbing the swivel chair next to Bryce's. "I, um… haven't done anything wrong, have I?"

Usually, Bryce would say: _Why, is there something you want to tell me about? _However, this was a serious matter. The poor lad's entire family had just been wiped out; no time for jokes now.

He waited until Rinoa had left them both alone. "You don't have to call me Inspector," he said, with a slight tone of regret. "I'm just a regular, plain old Constable." He didn't want Rinoa to know this.

"O-okay," stammered Zell. "I'm sorry."

"No need to apologise," Bryce replied friendlily. "In fact, it is I that should be sorry." He felt a chill, dreading telling this poor, nervous kid who had never had any hassle or contact with the police, that his family was dead.

"Why?" asked Zell, confused.

"I'm assuming you've heard about the murders in Balamb this morning," Bryce began.

"Sure," said Zell, a little more brightly. "The whole school's talking about it. Isn't it terrible?"

"It certainly is," agreed Bryce. "And I'm sorry to have to tell you that your mother, sister and nephew were the victims." He drew a breath, waiting for the angry, violent reaction he was sure the musclebound Zell was capable of.

Zell's eyes grew wide with terror and shock, looking completely dead as if his soul had gone, of its own accord, to join his family. "No…" he finally squeaked. "No… it can't be… I saw them all yesterday… they were fine… it couldn't have been…" He put his head in his hands and silently wept.

Bryce had a few problems holding back his own tears. "I am really sorry," he quavered. "Listen, I can put you in touch with a counsellor if you want to talk about things." He put a hand on Zell's arm. "I wish there was something more I could do."

"If I'd had stayed over," Zell sniffled, his voice muffled through tears, and his hands. "I could have fought 'em off. If only I'd been there…" His tears resumed, now more audible than ever.

"You mustn't blame yourself," Bryce reassured him. "Say you had stayed with them. It's highly probable that you would have been killed yourself." He didn't want Zell to know just how his family had been murdered. It wasn't in his best interest to know.

"_No_!" Zell screamed suddenly, taking Bryce aback. "I would have stayed awake all night… guarding them with my life… and if they'd got to me… then so be it!"

Bryce tried to smile. "Hindsight is a wonderful thing," he said, trying to sound comforting. "How were you to know this would happen?"

"But if I'd only been there I would have…" Zell tried to argue his point but failed. He sighed and looked up, eyes bloodshot through his tears. "I guess you're right," he sighed, slumping his shoulders and looking down at his red flash trainers. "I just… can't believe they're gone. That this would happen at all… It's just… why would someone do such a thing?" The tears drowned him once again.

All of a sudden there was a knock at the door that made Bryce jump, but bypassed the stricken Zell. "Um, this isn't a good time," Bryce called.

"This is very important, Bryce," boomed the voice of Sergeant Rawlinson. "I have some more news of criminal activity in Balamb!"

_Oh, God, not another one! _Bryce thought in horror. How many murders could there be on such a tiny little island? "Give me a minute!" he called. He turned to Zell. "Listen," he said, whipping out his notebook. "I'm going to give you the number for the Victim Support Unit." He scribbled a number on a blank page, tore it out and passed it to Zell. "And if you want to talk stuff through with me… here's my card. Okay?" He handed one over to Zell, who took it passively.

"I wish I had more time to help you, Zell," Bryce said. "Anyway, I think you need some time alone."

Zell stood up and sniffed.

"Here," Bryce passed Zell his own handkerchief from his pocket. When Zell looked at him uncertainly, Bryce insisted he took it. "Come on, you need it more than me," he told Zell. "I've got plenty more at home, anyway."

"Thank you," Zell croaked, before turning on his heel and running embarrassed out of the office. He didn't like others to see him crying, and he felt that Bryce had seen enough. He barged unapologetically past the waiting Rawlinson, who came into the office.

"What's with him?" he asked suddenly.

"Erm, he's just lost his entire family," Bryce replied sarcastically. "How do you expect him to feel?"

"Oh…" It was Rawlinson's turn to be embarrassed. "The Dincht boy… I had no idea."

Bryce shook his head in exasperation. "Honestly, Sergeant, do you have no tact?" he asked, only half-joking. "Anyway, what's up? Another murder?"

"Not quite," Rawlinson said grimly, "but there has been a grave robbery at the local church, where young Miss Tilmett was buried only yesterday."

Bryce's jaw dropped. "What in Hyne's name is going on?" he gasped. "What sick-minded people live here? I'm in half a mind to move back to Deling City!" Bryce had left Deling City over a year ago, vowing never to return, after getting badly hassled by some Galbadian troops, who accused him of being a 'nark' and a 'traitor,' amongst other much worse names he had been called. He had therefore made Balamb his home, if you could call a run-down terraced house near the industrial docks a home.

"I have done a little investigating of my own," Rawlinson told the shocked Bryce, "and it seems there are no leads as to who did this. The pastor said he saw nothing… he was just walking to the church to prepare Sunday's sermon… and he saw Miss Tilmett's grave… all dug up. Her fiancé is in the Infirmary at the moment, completely cut up. Incoherent." He sighed. "Poor lad. He really loved that girl, from what I hear."

Bryce wanted to tell Rawlinson to shut up already. It had been heartbreaking enough to tell young Zell Dincht that his family had been brutally murdered. Instead he sighed. "I should have brought a spare handkerchief today," he joked weakly. "Give it to the other lad."

Rawlinson nodded. "So, now we're investigating a grave robbery as well as a quadruple murder," he said. "Now, the grave robbery, whilst awful, must obviously come after the killings, so, we'll take statements concerning this incident, but concentrate on the deaths."

Bryce looked doubtful. "You know," he said, "weird as this may sound, I think the incidents might be somehow connected." He looked at Rawlinson's broad grin on his chubby face, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of what Bryce had just said. "Call it… a feeling. I can't explain it…"

Their discussion of the cases was cut abruptly short, by a breathless Dr Sheila Kadowaki, who had just run, confused and terrified from the infirmary, up several flights of stairs to Cid's office. "Officers," she panted. "Rinoa told me you'd be here."

Bryce leapt to his feet. "What's wrong, ma'am?" he asked, suddenly concerned. _Please_, he thought, _don't let this be another murder_. He had not yet gotten over the moment he had seen Zell's family, especially his little nephew Connor, with their bodies bloodied, almost beyond recognition. He didn't think he could stomach another mutilated corpse.

"Quistis' body…." Dr Kadowaki gasped. "Gone… been taken… bodybag… ripped open." She sighed and began to fall. Thankfully, Rawlinson was able to catch her and guide the swooning, shocked doctor into Cid's office chair.

"It's okay, madam," he whispered, almost comfortingly. "First, where was the body taken from?"

Dr Kadowaki groaned, as if in pain. "The infirmary… in the west block… just an empty bodybag… on a stretcher…"

"Okay," affirmed Rawlinson, writing this down in his notebook. "We will go and investigate straight away." He turned to Bryce. "Come on, Bryce, duty calls." He sounded a little world-weary. Never had there been so much bloody murder and excitement in such a small part of the world.

Bryce stood up and walked over to the Headmaster's water cooler. He snatched a polystyrene cup and filled it with ice cool water. Carrying it over to his desk, he told the doctor, "Here, drink this slowly. You'll be okay."

"Thank you…" croaked Dr Kadowaki, feebly reaching out for the cup.

The policemen hurried downstairs, and straight to the infirmary, which was, sure enough empty, but for a lonely, weeping Irvine, a box of tissues his sole comfort. Bryce was keen to offer the Irvine his sympathies, but Rawlinson shook his head in disapproval. "Focus on the task in hand," he reminded Bryce.

Reluctantly entering the treatment area, they saw, sure enough, an empty white plastic bag, torn open, as Dr Kadowaki had told them. Rawlinson examined it, whilst Bryce approached tentatively.

"Hmm…" Rawlinson mused, "Must have been a quick job… whoever did this was very underprepared…" He looked a little closer. "The bag hasn't been cut, more likely it's been torn open with bare hands, which is very hard to… hang on a sec…"

"What is it?" Bryce asked, half intrigued, half scared. With all this uncharacteristic death and destruction going on in Balamb, surely this body snatching business was not an open and shut case.

"The folds here and here where pressure has been applied with the fingers," Rawlinson explained. "They are bent outwards rather than in."

Bryce was confused. "Meaning?" he asked.

"Meaning," Rawlinson said "that there is absolutely no way someone has simply ripped open this bag. These are the marks of someone desperate to get out…"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

A/N: This is one of my favourite chapters so far, featuring an original character inspired by someone I _thought_ I knew well. I had such fun writing it! Some of the stuff this character gets up to is quite awful, and I actually had to tone it down a little for so my story could retain its 'T' rating. In any case, enjoy!

Forty-something divorcee Gerry Crowley had been in this lonesome job as a porter at the Galbadia City Morgue for about ten years and, if he were honest, it was the dead that kept him from killing himself. For one thing, they were the only friends he had, or, to be more accurate, the friends he never had. More importantly, some of the corpses that came in gave off the most incredible odours, after having been left for days, sometimes weeks, with no one around to discover them. He didn't want to be found like that by anyone, not decomposing in a bath of blood, nor dangling from the ceiling, or rotting into his own filthy, stinking mattress on his bedsit floor, after overdosing on the Valium his doctor had prescribed for him when his life had been torn a part by a series of stupid mistakes, and ugly rumours.

It all began when he was a builder, living and working in Timber, working on what was to become the Aphrora pub. Whilst there, he met someone who changed his life forever.

Kevin. A vision of lanky loveliness in his tight stonewashed jeans, and loose white T-shirt, which rode up whenever he bent down. Gerry wanted him the moment he set eyes on him. And one magical evening, Kevin proved that he felt the same way.

That evening, Gerry and Kevin were among the last to leave the site, when Kevin playfully snatched Gerry's hard hat, forcing him to give chase. When Gerry finally caught up with Kevin, he grabbed him and began to touch him gently, his effeminate, girlish hands sliding up his T-shirt. Kevin didn't complain; in fact he stroked Gerry's face in return and whispered, "Take me, babe." Thus began a three-month affair with his handsome co-worker. They were eventually outed when Gerry was caught in a compromising position. In a portable toilet with Kevin, discovered by none other than the site's foreman.

The gravity of the situation, and the depravity of the act, caused Gerry to lose his job on the spot. Kevin kept his, as he made out he was some sort of 'victim' of this act of love. This rejection and betrayal from his boyish lover drove Gerry to drink, and although his wife Susan forgave him his indiscretion, they never slept in the same bed again.

Feeling his wife had turned her back on him in his hour of need, Gerry's drinking problem became worse. Sometimes he was drinking up to an entire bottle of neat Jack Daniels a day, and often he would find himself passed out on the aged, uncomfortable couch. Coupled with an almighty hangover, his bad back gave him an aggressive temper. The target for this temper was, more often than not, Susan's fourteen-year-old daughter Chelsea, whom he had raised as his own since she was eight. When she returned from school one day, Gerry beat her so badly she was admitted to hospital. He told Susan that Chelsea had been hit by a car, and she, the stupid useless bitch (to use Gerry's turn of phrase at that moment in time) believed him.

When Chelsea returned to school, however, he noticed that a week later, people on he street were giving him a wide berth, and shooting disgusted looks at him, even when he was sober. The local off-license owner also advised his staff to stop serving him, and he was suddenly barred from the local pub, which he had helped to build. He believed it to be due to his now well-known drink problem, but discovered this wasn't the case when he decided to try and get some precious liquor from neighbouring Winhill. Even the locals, total strangers to him, were avoiding Gerry, and the landlord of a pub he'd never been in before refused to serve him, even though he was in a perfectly competent state.

The mystery was solved when he returned from that sojourn, to find Susan and Chelsea gone, and a note, explaining that Susan apparently knew that he had been repeatedly interfering with Chelsea, and she knew that, when she finally fought back against her wicked stepfather, he beat her to within an inch of her life. She had always known it wasn't a car that had injured Chelsea so bad, but she had refused to believe it until she had heard exactly what he had been doing to her little girl.

Upset and confused, Gerry had phoned Susan, and said that although he admitted beaten her in a drunken rage, he had never done anything else; he was certainly no paedophile. He could only deduce that Chelsea had said such hurtful things to get back at him for beating her. Even so, Susan refused to believe him, and told him that she had wasted seven years of her life with a depraved, alcoholic sex maniac.

Now, wrongly branded a pervert, and stuck in a council-maintained bedsit in Deling City, Gerry was lonely, and wasn't getting any younger. Although being branded a homosexual rapist and a child molester, he was definitely not a necrophiliac either. His past hidden, he decided to socialise with some of his workmates a little more. He made friends with a young lab technician Justin, who had just got together with a pretty student named Elena. He was reminded so strongly of Susan in her younger days whenever he saw her and one night, told her as much, along with telling her he wished he'd met her before she'd met Justin, and that he would give everything he owned (although it may have been very little) to spend just one night with her. He then proceeded to touch her breasts, and try to kiss her, which had warranted him a slap round the face and the remark: "I'd rather sleep with a woman," which he thought was thoroughly deserved.

What he didn't think he deserved was Justin ignoring him at work. He tried to lighten the mood with friendly jibes about his girlfriend. "Hey," he would say, "have you knocked her up yet?" or "You moving in together yet?" One day he'd asked Justin, "When's the wedding?" to which Justin, no longer able to see the funny side, replied "You know what? It's none of your fucking business!"

Soon after this incident, Justin left the city morgue for a job in Esthar, and Elena had gone with him. So that was it; he had lost everything and not even spent so much as a night with anyone since Kevin, let alone Elena.

He related this story to the residents of the morgue many times, and his colleagues, who had now all but shunned him, knew it. Perhaps, they would say, it was to bore the corpses so much, to make sure they were really dead.

Suddenly a silver drawer in the icy room rattled. Maybe his story had perked the stiffs up, Gerry thought. Which was strange, as corpses weren't ever animated.

The banging resumed, now louder than before. Maybe it was the water pipes disturbing the cabinets of dead folk. Or an earthquake. Yes, that was it. But why was only one drawer moving? He had to investigate.

Gerry tiptoed over to the offending drawer why he was sneaking around in a room full of dead people who couldn't hear him was beyond him) and slowly pulled it open.

The corpse, a fifty-year-old heart patient, was pale and drawn, exactly how Gerry expected a dead person to look. He sighed in relief and went to push the drawer closed, but as he did so, he noticed the corpse's eyes snap open, showing milky white irises, and pupils that narrowed to dark slits, which focussed on Gerry. His prey.

As a surprised Gerry looked closer at the body to investigate, and push the eyelids gently shut again, the corpse sat up, and with lightning quick reflexes, grabbed Gerry's upper arm, and crushed it so hard that the bones splintered.

Gerry screamed so loud, the cry echoed around the room, and seemed to disturb more corpses. This time the drawers began opening of their own accord, and similar bodies began sitting up. None of the living came to his aid, assuming it was "mad old Gerry going on a tirade again."

The stench was almost unbearable; it was nothing like even Gerry, used to the smell of the dead, had ever smelled before. He tried to struggle out of his assailant's grip, but the more he struggled, the tighter the creature's grip became.

Gerry began to sweat, even though the room temperature never reached above three degrees. More of these moaning, animated bodies were coming towards him. Though their approach was slow, he could not loosen the grip of the monster that had him tightly by the arm. He decided to take drastic action, and punched it in the face. However, his punch barely even marked the thing. Gerry had always been weak and weedy, and although he could beat a fourteen-year-old girl into submission, he had nothing on a dead person. He had never been good at sports, even at school, where he just sat at the back of the playing field and pissed in his gym shorts whilst the other kids ran about, threw javelins and jumped hurdle. He wished he had been more like the big boys who used to pick on him, calling him 'Smelly,' 'Pee-Wee' 'Pissy McGee' and other nasty epithets. If only he was able to get away from these… things.

The monster snapped back with its surreal expanding jaws, managing to clamp its rotten teeth around Gerry's bony wrist. Gerry struggled to get free and finally managed – minus his hand. Screaming, and with blood spurting from the stump on his arm, Gerry pulled, with a last act of desperation and rare strength, away from the thing clinging onto him. He left his arm behind, though, and yet more blood sprayed from his shoulder.

The blood seemed to make the creatures, crawling from their drawers, curious about this screaming, handless form, encouraging them to taste more, perhaps some flesh, some muscle… some brain.

These pale wan figures with a hunger for living flesh were closing in on the sad, weakening Gerry, who was becoming dizzy through lack of blood. His head was hurting and he was beginning to hallucinate. He thought he saw the door, a clear path to freedom, right in front of him… a path to salvation. It was however, just a mirage in Gerry's oxygen starved mind.

In reality, he ran straight into a bulky mass, which grabbed and tore at his torso and thighs. One creature got a hand on his genitals, and squeezed until his testicles exploded like tomatoes in a microwave.

Gerry uttered a last, ear-piercing scream, and fell to the floor, and let the hungry masses feed upon him.

His last thought was of his beautiful stepdaughter, Chelsea. "I'm sorry," he whispered as his stomach was removed from his body, several ribs snapping in the process. "I'm sorry for what I did…"

By morning there was nothing left of Gerry Crowley, just a few fragmented bones, and a lot of blood. But for this mess, the morgue was now empty…

A/N: I must apologise for this sickness of mind; I read a lot of horror books as a young teenager.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"There you are!" called the musclebound, dark man to the petite, silver-haired girl, sporting an eye-patch, who was sitting at a table, hunched over the _Galbadia Argus _newspaper, a half-eaten hot dog in one hand, running a finger along the print of the newspaper with the other. "Seifer wants to meet us in the hotel bar, ya know!"

"WHY?" the girl snarled, a little annoyed at being disturbed whilst reading. What was it with Raijin that he had to interrupt at the most inconvenient times? She was right in the middle of an interesting article about the mysterious disappearance of a wretched morgue porter, and most of the corpses he had been in charge of.

"I dunno," shrugged the big boy, named Raijin. "Said he had something important to tell us."

"WAIT," the girl, named Fujin, commanded, not looking up from her paper, shaking the hot dog a little. "FINISH," she embellished, spraying bread roll crumbs out of her mouth as she spoke.

Raijin shook his head. "Jeez," he sighed. "You're worse than Zell lately, with those hotdogs."

Chewing up the last of the toasted hot dog bun, Fujin paced over to her strongly built companion. She then gave him a hard, painful, yet – as Raijin knew – friendly kick to the side of his left knee, which nearly felled the large guy. "OWWWW!" he cried, doubling over and clutching his injured leg. "That hurt, ya know."

"GOOD," Fujin answered, a hint of a smile crossing her stony, emotionless face, if only for a second.

"Shall we get going?" Raijin asked, and Fujin nodded in affirmation.

As they took the corridor out of the cafeteria, and turned right around the circular atrium of the Garden towards the front gate, Raijin had to ask: "What were you reading in that paper, Fujin?" Raijin himself didn't read the local newspapers such as the _Argus_, preferring to get his news from the _Daily Doings_, a paper sneered at by the female half of the Garden's population as porn. Yet he knew that Fujin would thumb through it and read the 'problem' page, just for a laugh.

"DISAPPEARANCE," Fujin grunted in reply. "MAN MISSING."

Raijin seemed indifferent. "Yeah, yeah," he snorted. "Big deal. At least nineteen people a day are reported missing in Galbadia alone, ya know."

Fujin shook her head. "NO," she insisted. "THIS, DIFFERENT. WEIRD."

She then reluctantly reverted to normal speech, and explained how there was no trace of this porter or the bodies in the chamber in which some remains were found. "They claim," she drawled, "that Mr Crowley stole the bodies and absconded somehow. But his car was still in the mortuary car park, and all the vans were accounted for."

"Whoa," Raijin put in, wide-eyed and for once, at a loss for words.

"What's more," continued Fujin, "his colleagues don't have a high opinion of him. Always claimed he was a bit of a weirdo."

Raijin shuddered, trying not to gag at his own ideas. "You don't wanna _know _what I'm thinking, ya know," he wheezed, looking pale.

"NECROPHILIA?" suggested Fujin, in her usual robotic monotone.

Raijin nodded stiffly.

Fujin frowned and shook her head slowly. "IMPOSSIBLE," she monotoned. "FORTY BODIES. HIDE, WHERE?"

"You… you got a point there," Raijin said, a little relieved, but still freaked out at the idea of a man stowing away some forty stiffs in his basement.

Pulling her lips tight, Fujin nodded in agreement. "DISTURBING," she concluded.

They exited the Garden. Whilst the sun was shining, and it was a beautiful day, the concourse was eerily quiet. Usually, gaggles of SeeD cadets, girls, by and large, would be grouped around, gossiping about the events of the weekend, and who was going out with whom at Garden. Today, there was nobody. Even the homesick guy who would usually be leaning on the stone wall, whimsically staring out to sea, missing his family, was absent.

"UNUSUAL," Fujin commented, and quite rightly.

"It's quiet, ya know," Raijin agreed. "Too quiet."

The silence continued as they walked along the winding path towards the town from the Garden. Raijin marked the surfeit of disembowelled Geezards and Bite Bugs strewn across the green fields. The allies walked on the grass for a while, yet encountered no live versions of these common monsters.

"Whoa," Raijin commented vapidly, "someone put in one hell of a training session, ya know."

"INDEED," replied Fujin, trying not to show her concern by fighting her temptation to cling to Raijin's strapping arm. Something was going on, and it wasn't going to be good news. She shuddered as they passed Selphie's memorial, which had been desecrated. The floral and plush tributes had been ripped apart, rose and lily petals strewn across the path, a headless Moogle doll, stuffing spilling from its neck, lay stupidly in the scorched grass.

Raijin shook his head mournfully. "Who coulda done such a thing?" he muttered, feeling pity not only for Selphie, but also for the mindless, ignorant morons who had no respect, and were driven to such an act for pleasure.

The pair eventually reached their town, where their suspicions that something odd was afoot were further confirmed when they found the garage, both closed for business, and seemingly abandoned.

"DISTRESSING," Fujin commented.

They continued on, along the deserted streets of Balamb, past the Dincht's house, where there were more floral tributes for the murdered family, mercifully left respectfully untouched. Then, as the pair turned the corner, onto the seafront near the hotel, they noticed a group of no less than forty scruffy, grey-skinned individuals, loitering vacuously around the entrance to the train station.

Raijin tutted derisively. "Look at that, Fu," he snorted. "Frickin' hoodlums, tearin' up the barriers at the station." For that was exactly what they were doing. "Hey, bastards!" he called to the destructive group. "Show a little goddamned respect!"

This was the wrong thing to do. A particularly large, air-headed member of the group jerked inhumanly towards Raijin and stared at him with milky white eyes.

"Hmph," Raijin spat. "Want to make something of that, eh? Look at ya, all pale and lardy. You should eat some proper meat, not just that processed junk you get from Trendy Burgers."

The fat being seemed angered by Raijin's comments, and came stalking slowly, threateningly, towards him and his companion.

"HA!" hollered Raijin, readying his weapon, a large brass pole, weighted at both ends. "You want some o' this, eh? Do your worst!"

Fujin however, was unusually reluctant to fight. "NO," she hissed robotically. "DON'T."

Raijin laughed heartily. "Ah, don't worry," he replied confidently. "Look how slow they're moving towards us, it'll be ages before they get in striking distance." He readied himself into combat position. "I'll wait here and give them a running start. COME ON!" he yelled. "I'LL TAKE YA ALL ON, YA KNOW!"

The fat member of the group, seemingly the leader, lurched at Raijin, his rotten-toothed mouth aiming for his left upper arm. It almost made contact with Raijin's rock-hard flesh, before he backed away. "Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!" he cried, thwacking his assailant about the torso with his pole. "That was uncalled for. Fu, help me out here!"

Fujin, however, made no attempt to fight; she ha noticed something else, something most sinister. "RAGE!" she called urgently. "LOOK!" She pointed, with three fingers, to a group of the grey thugs, mysteriously sticking together.

"What?" asked Raijin, annoyed at being distracted in battle. The fat beast was proving bothersome; no matter how hard he was hit, the wind refused to be knocked out of him, and he kept lunging at Raijin with his teeth, and his dirty, yellowing, overgrown fingernails. Fortunately, Raijin, despite his bulk, was far too fast for his opponent, who would always be clawing hopelessly at thin air.

"DINCHTS," Fujin relied, trying to keep the quiver of fear out of her usually steady, mechanical voice.

"Don't be ridiculous, Fu… oh, this guy is severely pissing me off, ya know… take THIS!" Raijin hit the thing about the head with his pole. The head exploded in a flurry of blood, bone and brain tissue. The torso hit the ground, but this seemed to anger his friends.

"Oh great, he's dead," Raijin lamented sarcastically. "Now I gotta whole buncha paperwork to do. Right you sons-of-bitches, you asked for it!" He span his pole over his head, spraying a little of his victim's remains over the slowly approaching, rapacious crowd. This seemed to make them more agitated and keen to get to Raijin.

As he surveyed the crowed, he finally latched onto what Fujin had been trying to tell him. Three of the crowed were otherworldly doubles of Jackie Dincht, Zell's Ma, her daughter Shelly, and her son Conor was unmistakeable, as he was smaller than most of the others, and sticking like glue to his young, brown-haired, but deathly pale mother.

"SHIT!" exclaimed Raijin! "That… that's Zell's Ma, ya know… And… and his sister… and rascally nephew…" He observed the sinister family unit as they came limping towards them.

"TOLD YOU," Fujin replied, more composed now that she was sure that Raijin believed her. "RUN."

This time, Raijin didn't think to not listen to his companion. He turned and fled, towards the hotel door.

They reached the doors, and Raijin made to barge through the large revolving door, but was bounced off it; it had been locked tight shut. He glanced over at the approaching mysterious mob.

"DON'T LOOK," Fujin warned, starting to panic again. She took a breath, and smiled to herself, in spite of the situation.

"Hey," Raijin called, rapping his large, solid fists urgently on the plate glass. "HEY! LET US IN!"

"CALM," Fujin said, more to herself than her panicking partner. She was sweating profusely, and somehow knew this was in part, what was attracting these… things (_well, they aren't people_, she thought morbidly).

"I AM calm, ya know!" Raijin fumed. "I'm just trying to get IN! HEY! IDIOT DOORMAN! WE'RE SUPPOSED TO BE MEETING SOMEONE IN HERE, YA KNOW!"

"SHUSH," Fujin commanded, approaching the door. "Excuse me!" she yelled, once again using normal speech, as Raijin continued to hammer. "We just want in. We're not one of…" She flailed about for the right word, finishing with "…them."

A uniformed concierge could be seen approaching through the glass, noticing the thickset man, and the slightly built woman.

"Hello?" Raijin called angrily. "We're supposed to be meeting someone in here!" Impatiently, he hammered on the door.

Eventually, the harassed-looking concierge reached the door and fumbled with the keys on a chain.

"Hurry!" hissed Raijin, resisting the urge to glance at the approaching horde.

"Yes?" the concierge panted sharply. "Who is your appointment with?"

Raijin opened his mouth to speak but Fujin interrupted him. "We arranged to meet with Seifer Almasy in the bar area. He's a guest in the hotel," she said in an unusually sweet voice. Raijin gave his companion a surprised look. He had never heard her speak like that since she had tried to talk Seifer out of all that 'young revolutionary' nonsense in the Lunatic Pandora a year ago.

"May I take your names?" the concierge replied urgently.

"Raijin, y…" Raijin had to stop himself from saying 'ya know.' It was his nervous habit.

"FUJIN," Fujin answered automatically.

"Okay," replied the concierge earnestly. "I'll just go and check. If you'd like to…" He opened the door. "…step into the lobby and take a seat…"

"Finally!" hollered Raijin, almost pushing the poor concierge over as he entered.

"Thanks," breathed Fujin in relief, handing a 1000 Gil bill over to their saviour.

The concierge beamed, as if all that disturbance had been worth it for such an unusually generous tip. He cleared his throat as he re-bolted the door so it was secure. "I'll just go and inform Mr. Almasy of your presence."

Raijin gratefully slumped into one of the padded chairs, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. A prominent muscle was twitching obviously in his cheek.

Fujin joined him "RELIEF," she sighed.

A different member of staff turned the corner, dressed in a white tunic, carrying a small green case. "Hello," he said amiably. "My colleague just informed me of your, uh, dramatic arrival. I'm just here to check you weren't injured in the scuffle you were just involved in."

"Nope," Raijin answered, confidently.

"ESCAPED," Fujin informed the medic. "BARELY," she added, dramatically yet truthfully.

The medic smiled. "Excellent," he said, with a weak smile.

The concierge joined them. "Okay, that's all fine," he said. "Everyone's kind of holed up in here, there's a gang of criminals going about the place, looting, vandalising, doing all sorts. We just had to make absolutely sure. I'm very sorry for making you wait out there." His voice dropped a little. "It must have been terrifying," he whispered to them, as if the pernicious people outside could hear him.

Fujin opened her mouth to say _YES_, but Raijin shrugged, seemingly unshaken by the incident, although Fujin knew that was not the case. "I'm from Garden," he said. "Used to it, ya know."

"Mr. Almasy is waiting," the concierge said. "Right this way, please."

Waiting nervously in the bar in the Balamb hotel, Seifer sat, nervously sipping on a Bacardi and coke. He had come to the decision that he could not hide his feelings forever, and was about to admit to his closest friends, his posse, Raijin and Fujin, that he was indeed, a player for the other team. He went over and over in his mind what he would tell them, and worried about how they would react.

_Come on, Seifer, _he told himself, _you've been friends with them forever. Surely they won't mind. _A moment of doubt crossed his mind. _But when they find out about Squall…_

Yes, Squall, the man he had professed to hate since childhood. What he had been experiencing all along was not hate at all, but rather a deep, passionate love that was to be hidden at all costs. Lately, Squall had been worrying him. Since the night after Selphie's death, Squall had become distant with Seifer, and that had gotten him cross. Cross enough to frame him for the mysterious murder of Instructor Trepe. However, the ghastly goings-on of recent days, involving Zell's family (even Seifer felt a little sympathy for Chicken-Wuss) had brought them back together again. Squall had caved in, and sent him message after grovelling message, via the Garden e-mail system.

_Life's too short, _one message had read. _I mean, the Dinchts… wiped out… just like that. Let's try again._

They had spent last night in the hotel together, no sex, just kissing, hugging and talking about their fears. Seifer brought up the suggestion of fleeing Garden, but Squall, always playing the hero, disagreed. "As long as I'm commander here, I have a duty to the cadets, SeeD members and staff," he'd replied.

Seifer had shrugged. "Then quit," he'd challenged.

Squall mirrored his bare-shouldered shrug. "Then what?" he'd asked, before sighing and changing the subject, to avoid an argument. "There seems to be a surfeit of hot dogs lately. Perhaps people have stopped eating them out of respect for Selphie. Or perhaps it really _was_ Zell…" That had made Seifer smile, and remember what he saw in Squall. He cared for others, an admirable quality in anyone, but with Squall it was usually hidden behind a silent bravado.

He couldn't get Squall off his mind; he'd never felt like this about anyone before, not even Rinoa. Yet he was scared to admit that he was experiencing this wonderful feeling. If he was honest, he was sure that his posse's reactions would not be favourable. He was certain that Fujin would abandon him, and as for Raijin, a man's man at the best of times, Seifer could see a harsh queer-bashing coming from him. Ignoring the commotion involving a medic near the entrance lobby, he steeled himself for a conflict with his closest friends. Just thinking of the painful beating he would most likely get from Raijin, he began to reconsider telling them.

As he glanced up to think of a plausible excuse, he saw it was too late. The hotel concierge was approaching him.

"A Mr. Raijin and Miss Fujin to see you, Mr. Almasy," he said professionally.

"Cool," Seifer replied, feeling exactly the opposite.

Within a minute Raijin and Fujin strode importantly into the hotel bar, looking a little distressed, which was unusual for them both, Seifer noticed.

"About time too!" Seifer snarled, trying to hide the nervousness in his voice.

Knowing he was amongst friends, Raijin felt comfortable about expressing his shock, even though he had never done so in front of Seifer. He took a breath. "You would not believe what we have just seen…"

"FOREBODING," Fujin commented, before Raijin blurted out the fact of the presence of these fearsome criminals, and about how three of them had, for some reason, resembled Zell's late family.

Seifer frowned, his still prominent scar crumpling into temporary lines on his face. "No way," he said shaking his head rapidly.

"ABNORMAL," Fujin assured him. "HOWEVER, ACCURATE."

"O-kay then," Seifer said, jovially. "You two sit down and tell me _all _about it." He smiled, half amused, half relieved. This little joke was perfect, a ready-made excuse not to tell them about his sexuality.

"Well," said Fujin, a little disappointed, and ruffled that his friend wasn't seeing things his way, "you've heard stories about these marauding criminals who are going about tearing shit up, right?"

"Of course I have," Seifer answered, in his usual cocky way. That precise moment was interrupted by a dark-haired waitress carrying a tray.

"Your whisky, Mr. Almasy," she said, setting a small glass of amber liquid in front of Seifer. "And for your friends… two complementary beers." She elegantly put down two brown bottles, as well as two glasses for the two newcomers.

"Wow… thanks," said Fujin, talking normally in surprise.

"Cheers," Raijin acknowledged, following the waitress' slightly jiggling buttocks as she walked away from the table. "Wow, now that's service, eh, Seifer?" he said, indicating the pretty bar worker.

"Anyway," Seifer avoided the conversation of supposedly attractive members of the opposite sex, "tell me about these weird things that are raping and pillaging Balamb as we speak…" He didn't sound the least bit convinced.

"Well," Raijin explained, "they came at us, and they just wouldn't stop, teeth gnashing, sharp yellow fingernails trying to tear at our flesh… unusually strong, they were…"

"SLOW," Fujin interjected with a sigh.

"Almost drew blood, they did," Raijin continued, with a sideways glance to Fujin. "Anyway, I was fighting this huge one, thought he was the big man, givin it all that, ya know…" Raijin flailed his arms about in demonstration. "…I tried and tried to fight him off but he just wouldn't give up… invincible, ya know… so I hit him over the head… and his whole head exploded!" he went on with relish.

Seifer stifled a snigger.

"TRUE," Fujin said, backing up Raijin, for once.

"She's right, ya know," Raijin continued. "Check this out!" He held out his pole to Seifer, the end stained with blood, and pink lumps of goo, plus some yellowish-white fragments sticking to it.

Seifer flinched, smelling what was unmistakably blood… human blood? And something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"BLOOD," Fujin detailed. "BRAIN, SKULL FRAGMENTS."

Raijin pulled his pole away from the slightly affronted Seifer. "And then the whole tribe started running after us. Plain furious, ya know…"

"WALKING," corrected Fujin, rolling her eyes again. "STILL, UNSETTLING."

"We barely made it in," Raijin gasped, "Luckilly your doorman was kind enough to let us in just in time."

"I heard," Seifer said, a glimmer of belief in his eyes. Then he sighed. "Oh, God, I have to get back to Garden tonight. I promised I'd meet Sq… uh… a friend." He covered his tracks just in time. "D'you think they'll let me go?"

"Why would you want to?" Raijin asked. "It's like death out there."

Seifer shrugged. "It's an important appointment," he said dryly. "Besides, if it is as bad as you say, then trusty Hyperion will get me through it." He grinned and patted his left hip.

"FOUND?" enquired Fujin.

"Yup," Seifer replied. "It was in the Training Centre… just where I left it." He didn't tell his friends that it had took him half an hour of unarmed combat with bad-tempered Grats, his whole supply of Cure magic, seven Potions and a Hi-Potion, to find his trusty blade, which he had lost in a drunken stupor the night of Quistis' death. Thank Hyne he hadn't run into old T-Rexaur, otherwise he probably would not have been here to tell the tale… or not, in this case.

"Do what you like," Raijin snorted, pulling out his wallet, "Fu and I are going to hold up here for a while, ya know. Our presence at Garden's not that urgent. I'll… just go book a room before it's too late." He rushed to the reception desk.

"So…" Seifer sighed to Fujin, taking a sip of his whisky, "how've you been?"

Fujin could tell Seifer was being strangely evasive, but was tired, mentally and physically, so she decided it would be a mistake to pursue it. "FINE," she replied in her usual monotonous manner.

"Good… good…" he murmured, not sure that was the case if the main parts of Raijin's story were true. "So… what's going on in Garden? Anything special?"

Before she could answer, a strangely smug Raijin approached them once again, affecting anger. "Would you believe," he said crossly, though Seifer at least, could see through it. "The only room they have left is the Presidential Suite! And they won't even let me have it at a discounted rate, given all this trouble! Hmph! I take it all back about good service!" He spat angrily into the ashtray.

Fujin seemed fooled. "REALLY!" she growled angrily. "GREAT! JUST GREAT!"

Seifer and Raijin exchanged knowing glances, and Seifer sat back and relaxed. After all that drama, the pair had completely forgotten about the 'something important' he had to tell them.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Tucked up in Squall's double bed in his newly commissioned Commander's Suite, Seifer was relaxing after a strenuous battle against what he had first thought of as figments of Raijin's imagination, from the hotel to the Garden. Upon arrival at Garden, Seifer noticed that about a third of the cadets at least had gotten wise to the danger of this vacuous yet deathly, multiplying foe, and had returned home, so Garden was rather quiet and deserted. Which was just as well, because nobody heard his and Squall's shouts of joy, delight and finally ecstasy, as they shared a hot, luxurious bubble bath together.

Squall joined him from the kitchen nook, bringing two steaming mugs of cocoa with him; he was discussing his day with Rinoa, who had been particularly irksome today.

"… ever since she became Kramer's personal secretary, she thinks she's queen of the frigging world!" Squall complained. Ever since he had learnt of the Headmaster's terrible treatment of Seifer during his questioning by the police, he had referred to Headmaster Cid by his surname, not out of respect, but defiance against this man he had once admired.

Taking his cocoa, Seifer rolled his eyes. "Have you even dumped the bitch yet?" he inquired spitefully.

Squall placed his mug on his bedside table, and slid into bed, next to his lover, shaking his head, so his mane of gingery-brown hair tumbled into his face. "I… can't," he sighed, watching Seifer light up his sixth cigarette since he had been in his company. "I just… can't hurt her."

Blowing out a lungful of smoke, Seifer grinned.

"Well then, Squall," he said cheerfully. "Why don't you use your head?"

Squall smiled, reaching underneath the covers to peel off his boxers.

Seifer smiled, and rolled his eyes. "Your _brain,_ Leonhart, if you still have it," he said, exasperated. "What I'm saying is, why don't you treat her like dirt so much, she'll be forced to dump you?"

"I'll treat _you _like dirt," he growled into Seifer's ear, fingering his left nipple, as Seifer took another drag of his cigarette."

Seifer giggled a little. "Get off," he said, guiding Squall's hand away from his chest and towards his stomach. "That tickles!" Then he sighed as he flicked his ash into the ashtray on his bedside table.

"I've got a lot on my mind, Squall," he heaved.

"Like what?" Squall asked, resting his chin on Seifer's naked shoulder, allowing his hand to brush against Seifer's thigh.

Seifer violently stubbed out his cigarette, and loudly exhaled the last of the smoke. "The stuff I saw today," he huffed sleepily, "was awful."

"What?" asked Squall, further intrigued. "Is it about those things that have been wandering around Balamb?" He was under the impression that these creatures were a humanoid mutation of a new monster that could be killed relatively easily; that was based on the report Raijin had e-mailed to him earlier.

"Kind of," Seifer replied, stretching an arm, and wrapping it tenderly around Squall's chest. "It's just… the sheer scale of the damage, to the town, to the road up here… thank Hyne they haven't penetrated Garden yet."

Trying not to think of another form of penetration he was eager to indulge in with Seifer, Squall frowned. This was the first that he'd these creatures might be a pandemic threat.

"And get this," Seifer continued. I know this might sound stupid," He took a breath. "But Raijin claims he saw Chi… I mean… Dincht's dead family.

Squall's eyes widened, sexual congress now the furthest thing from his mind. "No… it couldn't be… not in Balamb… not in reality, for Hyne's sake!" He had heard of the dead rising; he had seen it too many times with Rinoa – the stupid B-movies she had been dragging him to through their year together.

Seifer frowned. "What are you talking…" he began, but was interrupted by an urgent series of thumps on the door.

"Shit!" Squall hissed, suddenly panicked. Leaping out of bed, he groped for his dressing gown, abandoned on the floor, and threw it on, tying it hastily, but tightly.

"Seifer," he announced, grabbing the heavy glass ashtray, spilling the dusty contents on the floor. "I'm borrowing this."

Seifer was confused. "What for?" he asked.

Squall turned to face Seifer to answer to answer him, but backed cautiously towards the door as he spoke. In case it's one of those… things," he answered.

"But what about…"

"If it's gonna break through the door, I won't have time to grab Lionheart," he explained, referring to his prize gunblade. "Stay here, but be prepared to come if I…"

The thumping resumed.

"All right, all right!" Squall called in frustration, hading for the door.

Even though he got the feeling a security chain would be inadequate protection against a mob of marauding man-eaters, he fastened it anyway before opening the door.

Through the small gap, he saw an ashen-faced Rinoa. She was visibly shaking, and her mascara was smeared across her eyelids and down her cheeks; she had quite obviously been crying.

Squall detached the chain and flung the door open straight away. "Rinoa," he announced pointedly so that Seifer might hear. "Whatever's wrong?" he asked, as tenderly as he felt like.

"Oh, Squall," Rinoa quavered. "it's terrible and it's awful… it's the worst thing to happen since…" The name 'Quistis' died on her lips as she embraced Squall, who stood rigidly, not sure what to do, reluctant to show affection to this girl, even though she was upset, and not wanting to drop his makeshift ashtray weapon.

"What is it?" he asked, as Rinoa released him to wipe her nose with an already crusty blue woollen sleeve.

"H-Headmaster Cid," she sobbed… "He's…"

"What?" Squall interrupted tactlessly. "Sacked you?"

"NO!" Rinoa screamed in fury. She then composed herself slightly. "He's… I found him," she wept, "covered in blood… his…" Once again Rinoa had to compose her thoughts. "…his insides splattered all over his desk, his face… oh, his face…"

Squall had heard enough. "All right!" he exclaimed at Rinoa forcefully. "I think we've established that he's dead!"

"Not just dead," Rinoa wept, seemingly unperturbed by Squall's sudden outburst. "Murdered, just like Quisty and the Dinchts…"

This reminded Squall that Zell's doomed family were supposed to be dead, but they had been spotted roaming the streets of Balamb a mere twelve hours ago. "Rinoa," he said gently, dropping the ashtray with a _thud _and grabbing the girl's shoulders and looking straight into her bloodshot, dark brown eyes, "this may sound crazy, but you need to get as far away from Balamb as possible,"

"Why?" Rinoa hissed, shrugging away from Squall. "Why should I? As Headmaster Cid's secretary it is my duty to assist in the matter of helping to solve his murder."

"He may reanimate at any time, Rinoa," Squall said frankly, "and then he'd be after you."

Rinoa looked Squall up and down critically, as if he were mad. Her eyes stopped at his bare feet, marking the ashtray on the floor. She began sniffing at the air. "When did you start smoking?" she questioned suspiciously.

"I haven't," Squall said truthfully.

"Then why can I smell it… and why have you got an ashtray – a dirty ashtray – in your quarters?" Rinoa accused pointing at the offending article.

"I thought you were one of…" Squall started to explain but caught himself, knowing he would sound ridiculous, as it was clear that Rinoa did not believe him. "Forget it," he finished, folding his arms and turning away from her.

Rinoa's eyes began to shine with tears. "I thought you'd changed," she croaked, trying to swallow her tears. "Instead I see you're still the same cold, unfeeling… moron!" She had begun to sob again. "Tell you what, Squall, I'll handle this matter. Just go back to… being a Commander, however the hell you do that!" she blazed over her tears. "And what's more," she went on furiously, "we are through! I don't ever wanna see you again! Ever!" She stepped out of Squall's suite, and with one last fiery look into Squall's icy blue eyes, grabbed the door handle and slammed it firmly shut.

Squall felt strangely calm as he stepped away from his entrance lobby, back into his living quarters.

"That went well, said a fully-clothed Seifer with a smirk, perched on the edge of the bed.

"They're here," Squall breathed, ignoring the comment that was supposed to have made him feel better. "Headmaster Cid is dead."

Seifer gave a sarcastic frown. "Hang on," he said, affecting confusion, "wasn't he 'Kramer' ten minutes ago?"

Resisting the urge to tell his partner to shut up, Squall rifled through his drawers and wardrobe, and dressed in his usual belted leather pants, T-shirt and jacket combo, Pulling on his boots, he could be pretty certain that Seifer knew that the Headmaster had been attacked and killed by these mutant beings, and could become one at a moment's notice. Seifer was also well aware that now he had Squall all to himself, no girlfriend to complicate matters.

"So," Seifer drawled, watching Squall load up and prepare Lionheart, "what do we do now?"

"We leave," Squall said emotionlessly, stuffing an excess of Potions into his inside jacket pocket. He then scooped up as many Phoenix Downs he could cram into his pockets, and stuffed them in. "We get as far away from Balamb as we can. But first…" He wandered over to his computer console and turned it on. He motioned to the desk where he had grabbed his healing items. "You should stock up on stuff, too," he told Seifer. "I'm just writing an open warning to everyone," he explained, sitting down at the console and opening his ChocoGo Messaging e-mail program.

As Seifer filled his trenchcoat pockets with provisions as he had been advised, Squall typed the message:

_Dear All,_

_At approximately 23:30 yesterday (Tuesday) evening, I was informed that our Headmaster Cid Kramer, was brutally murdered in the same way as our beloved instructor, Miss Quistis Trepe, and at least three local people._

_As a result, Balamb Garden is no longer safe. I have it on good authority that a new danger, much more severe than the time-bending Sorceress Ultimecia, is creeping ever closer._

_These people who are gorged upon and slaughtered in this way will rise again and feast upon the living. It appears that if you are bitten, you will die and join the ranks of what I can only describe as _Them_, the undead. Surely this explains Miss Tilmitt's apparent 'grave robbery', and the case of Instructor Trepe's bodybag._

_Please, for your own safety, leave Garden as soon as you can. If your student number ends with a 9, please take care of the remaining junior classmen_

_Good luck and Godspeed._

_Cdr. Squall Leonhart._

"Okay, ready," Seifer called as Squall clicked _Send To All_. "What's the plan?"

Squall looked pensive as he waited for his terminal to shut down. He couldn't be sure Galbadia wasn't infested with the things as well, and places such as Winhill and the orphanage in Centra would be far too remote, and they couldn't summon help from these places if they ran into trouble. Squall then reminded himself that a stop-off in Winhill would be wise, as Squall was sure his beloved sister-by-adoption, Ellone, had returned there to live, to give back some of the kindness she had been given from that town as a child.

"It is settled," Squall said confidently. "We shall head to Winhill to rescue Ellone. Then we shall make for the safest place I know: Esthar."

Guarded cleverly by holograms, which made the whole city seem invisible, Esthar was undoubtedly a safe haven: if you wanted to disappear, you should go there.

The intrepid pair abandoned their cocoa, and left the Garden hand in hand, to flee Balamb by train. They were unimpeded at the front gate; barely noticing the gatekeeper slumped in his booth

Bleeding from a gouge mark in his back.

Pearly eyes snapping open, his new afterlife just beginning.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Young SeeD candidate Amuke Inenuro woke up drenched in sweat, yet shivering from cold. She also felt like her night's sleep had done her no good. Shakily, she got up and dressed, planning to go to the Infirmary to speak to Dr. Kadowaki about this mysterious illness. She ran a finger along her love bite she had gotten from her boyfriend the previous night in the Secret Area. She thought on it; he hadn't been right yesterday, a bit listless, but more than willing to perform, even if he did seem a little keen to bite her everywhere. Though she was surprised to find the hickey was weeping a little.

Her head hurt as she staggered along the corridor to the Atrium, and was surprised to find that the place was deserted. Nobody was skipping along to breakfast, or warming up in the Training Centre. Even the conscientious students who would be finishing their breakfasts on the way to the Library, weighted down by books, were not there. This however, was not as unusual as Amuke thought, for it was still only three o'clock in the morning

Amuke didn't give a damn though, she was too ill to care. Her legs felt like lead, like there were heavy weights in the bottom of her shoes; she was so delirious she even sat on the edge of the fountain to check for this, setting herself tumbling backwards into the shallow waters, half on purpose, hoping that would refresh her somehow, but it didn't. As a result, she had a hard time hauling herself out of the fountain, feeling as if some force was keeping her in.

She was only relieved that there was no one around to witness her humiliation as she dragged herself further along the corridor. She paused to look at her reflection in the water, expecting to look a bit peaky, but she was shocked at what she saw. Her skin on her face, and as she noticed, her hands, arms and legs, was pure white, and her eyes harboured huge dark circles. The eyes themselves, looked slightly glazed over, bloodshot, and soulless.

Amuke gasped faintly; surely this wasn't her reflection staring back at her. It was such a shock that she felt her breathing become shallow, so thought she would make haste to the Infirmary and get treatment for whatever bug this was, so she carried on, her head feeling heavier by the pace, and her breathing becoming shallower with every step. Eventually she could no longer take the weight, and doubled over as she walked, finally slumping down onto the burgundy, blue and cream tiles.

Amuke Inenuro's life ended there, her breath leaving her on the Garden Atrium floor, her long, wet black hair matted across her once pretty face, ravaged by the onset of the infection, virus, or whatever had killed her.

Around three hours later, Charlotte Perryn and Brandi Ashor, Amuke's good friends came breezing out of the girl's dorms. The three had met as naïve twelve-year-olds, on their first day at Garden, and had stuck together ever since. They had always, without exception, been in the same classes, chosen the same subjects, and even had crushes on the same boys. Furthermore they had taken, and failed, written and field exams together, often with similar awful grades.

"I wonder where Amuke went this morning," Charlotte said to Brandi, commenting on the fact that Amuke had not been in bed that morning. The only instance the girls were split up was their dormitories; Charlotte and Amuke had always shared a double dorm designated for SeeD cadet use, Brandi had shared with many girls, most of whom had long since become SeeDs. Though her roommate, Nalek Cribbens, had packed her bag and gone home, presumably for the weekend. Yet it was now Wednesday, classes had resumed, and the usually punctual Cribbens had not returned. "She usually leaves a note when she goes off and my lazy butt's still in bed. Today… nothing."

"Must be at the Training Centre," thought Brandi distractedly, still concerned about Cribbens' AWOL status. "She was with Josh there last night."

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "That gormless retard," she tutted. "What does she see in hi…"

She was cut off when she heard a scream. "She's dead! Get Dr. Kadowaki, and quickly!"

Charlotte and Brandi exchanged looks and hurried to the Training Centre. The commotion, however, was coming from around the corner, and there was no trail of blood from an injured cadet. A crowd of SeeDs looking mournful, crouched around the body.

"How do you think it happened…?"

"Stand back, it might have been the plague!"

"That must be _some_ disease…"

"Think she had it for long?"

Brandi turned the corner, intrigued, to investigate who had lost their life in Garden. Deaths here were fortunately, a rare occurrence, but it usually happened in the raining Centre, at the claws of the dreaded T-Rexaur. She pushed through the crowd, eager to know what had happened. She stopped and gasped. She had recognised the shock of long, jet back hair. "Amuke…" she gasped, sinking to her knees beside her deceased friend. "Whatever happened to you?"

"Stand back, please," cam an authoritative voice. A well-built woman in her forties, wearing a pristine white lab coat dark hair pulled into a bun, cut through the crowd, followed by Xu Sukuri and Nida Rothedray, the assigned Garden medics, pushing a low wheeled stretcher solemnly towards the little crowd that had gathered there.

As Nida pulled back the red blankets on the stretcher, Xu bent to pick up the floppy lifeless form that had once been Amuke. "No…" Brandi whimpered. "Don't take her… don't take her away from me…" She felt hot tears of sorrow well up in her eyes. "Amuke! Wake up!" she cried in vain. By that time, a shocked Charlotte had joined her friend. She pulled the grief-stricken Brandi up to hug her, and watched over her friend's shoulder as they wheeled Amuke away to the Infirmary.

"We shall have to undertake some tests," Dr. Kadowaki said in hushed tones, "to find the cause of this girl's death, before her internment."

Charlotte heard this. It had all happened so suddenly. Amuke had been fine when she went to bed, and just eight short hours later, she was dead. She was bothered by Kadowaki's choice of words. _Internment._ It sounded so final.

"Come on," sobbed Brandi. "I wanna go to the Training Centre. Fight off this anger…"

Charlotte agreed, and, as the crowd dispersed, they headed wordlessly towards the Training Centre.

Brandi had had a hard upbringing, and used to have a habit of lashing out when things upset her. Two years ago, the late Instructor Trepe had taught her, that she should take out her anger on the Grats; it would give her a lot of valuable battle practice, too. It had been a while since Brandi had felt the need to do this, and Charlotte was with her all the way.

An unusually cold breeze struck the pair as they walked into the mock jungle surroundings. Usually there was usually a nice warm breeze from the heaters, to give the Grats the living conditions they were used to. Today the heating appeared to have failed, and the cold air blowing in was making the Grats shiver inactively underneath their rocks.

Brandi was determined to battle something, and headed, crying silent tears, towards a roaring, monster-like sound. There was bound to be something to fight there. And if it were T-Rexaur, so be it.

Worried about the risk her friend was taking, Charlotte followed her. "Brandi," she called, but Brandi couldn't, or wouldn't, hear her.

"I… I think we should turn back," she suggested. "Chill out in the common room, take the day off lessons… I'm sure Instructor Aki would understand our not being there…" Charlotte followed Brandi closer to the inhuman sound. "Come on, Brandi, this… isn't right.

There was a fire in Brandi's eyes, as she turned the corner and stalked over the little wooden bridge. Outside the Secret Area lay the once-mighty T-Rexaur, being gorged upon by what appeared to be a group of maybe a dozen teenagers, some of them in SeeD cadet uniforms. With superhuman strength, they were tearing great chunks of cold, raw dinosaur meat and shoving the bloody steaks hungrily into their mouths.

Brandi made her decision. She would pick a fight with these people. So what, it wasn't the right thing to do, but she was so wound up after the death of her closest friend, she didn't care.

"Hey!" she called, drying the tears from her eyes. "Hey, you freaks!"

Some of the group became distracted from their meal, and looked at the slightly built, tearful redhead. They looked at her with their evil, white eyes, and made towards her, slowly, anticipating the sweetness of human flesh, something that they once were.

"Oh, you want some, do ya?" she asked cockily to the advancing masses, their bony, pale hands, mostly covered in blood, clawed as if ready to strike. "Well, I'm up for it if you are!"

Charlotte, who had just crossed the bridge caught sight of the creatures that Brandi was planning to fight, and screamed.

This seemed to anger the people feeding from T-Rexaur, and those who had chosen to ignore the fiery, angry girl threatening their cohorts, now reared their heads, and looked at the slightly taller girl who had just disturbed their repast with her annoying scream.

They were angry.

A cold, blood-soaked arm reached out for Brandi, who, although she was having trouble seeing past her tears and puffy eyes, managed to duck out of the way before the monster could touch it her. She put it down to her superior skill, but the truth was that these things, deadly as they were, were also slow and lumbering.

Brandi pulled out her pistol, the weapon she had chosen as an excitable twelve-year-old, to specialise in, ready for action. She aimed at a being wearing a stained white T-shirt and bedraggled jeans. "Right, you," she croaked sadly. "This one's from Amuke."

She staggered back slightly from the recoil to find that the bullet had performed a direct hit to the thing's heart. However, since its heart was no longer needed, it loomed ever closer to Brandi.

Some uniformed monsters were gaining on Charlotte, who was left defenceless, as she had left her weapon, a cumbersome crossbow, in her dormitory, and had yet to junction. She began sweating profusely, and shaking, for she had noticed something. One of these bloodstained fiends looked remarkably like Amuke's boyfriend Josh, just as gormless and clumsy, but there was something different about him. He had changed, he was vicious, detached, and ivory eyes stared at her as if recognising her, as if targeting her…

Charlotte stood, frozen to the spot, unable to move, cry, shout or gasp, as the brutes gained on her. One, a girlish mutant, her SeeD cadet uniform as if one of the male abominations had tried to violate her in their primitive states, grabbed Charlotte's right arm and tugged it firmly.

Charlotte finally squealed in pain, as her arm was rent from her body. She continued to scream, trying not to notice the blood pumping out of her severed stump as an increasingly faster rate. The girl creature then proceeded to chew upon the disembodied arm, fighting off her male counterparts who clamoured for it, failed, and then turned their attention to a rather fresher piece of meat.

Charlotte felt whole fingers rip across her face, taking skin and eyelids with it. She screamed, which made the beasts' behaviour worse. Unable to stand the shrill sound of the girl, an arm grabbed her throat and squeezed until the screams died in her throat, along with Charlotte herself. Mercifully, she did not feel her abdomen being ripped apart.

Satisfied, the creatures advanced on the live meal, defending herself with her gun.

Dr. Sheila Kadowaki sighed as she studied one of the several vials of blood taken from the corpse of Miss Inenuro. Whilst she had estimated the time of death as 3.45am, every single test she had undertaken had proven inconclusive. She sighed, and threw the sealed test tubes into the freezer, and approached the unfortunate corpse, the arm purposely left dangling to take blood from, the rest of the body respectfully covered up.

As she walked to the cupboard to prepare another needle to take the last of Inenuro's blood, so she could send it to a specialist lab in Esthar to do some further tests she glanced over at the body. She swore she saw from the corner of her eye, the arm appeared to move, ever so slightly. The doctor wasn't fazed, though; it was the body just twitching its last before rigor mortis set in. _I'd better hurry and take some more blood,_ thought Dr. Kadowaki, _before the blood congeals._

She approached the arm and squeezed it tightly with a tourniquet to raise the rapidly sinking veins to the surface one last time. Once a satisfactory vein had popped up, Cr. Kadowaki inserted her needle to take a final sample.

As the needle pierced her pale, clammy skin, Amuke's misty eyes snapped open. Curious to know what the disturbance was, and teach the perpetrator a lesson, she sat bolt upright. Her head moved mechanically to the right, which is where she saw the shocked woman in white, a hypodermic syringe crushed in her hand, crackling the crunched-up plastic in terror.

The monster that had once been Amuke, reached for the woman, but grasped at empty air. The woman gasped in terror, beginning to sweat. The sharp broken plastic had cut her palm a little, and the blood and sweat were mingling. The monster smelled this and curiously stepped towards the cowering doctor, grunting with a new hunger for human flesh.

"Please…" whispered Kadowaki. "Please… don't hurt me." She was trying to reason with the creature that was advancing on her slowly, craving her blood. In a fit of terror, Kadowaki foolishly backed into a corner from which there was no escape.

Amuke's sinister twin finally lunged at the doctor with a terrible roar, bursting her skull open with her hard fist, as effortlessly as cracking a groundnut. Kadowaki lost consciousness, as well as her life, as soon as she felt the contents of her head dripping down the side of her face…

Panic stricken, having realised that Charlotte was dead, Brandi took flight from the things she was fighting. It was a terrible day; she had already lost her two best friends before breakfast; what more could go wrong?

As she came out of the Training Centre, she joined a throng of panic-stricken staff and students, and somehow, the news was being relayed that the Headmaster and the doctor had been brutally murdered, and the order was to evacuate. Pushing past the group of hurrying people, looking for a small refuge of space, she finally jumped into the fountain, but promptly clambered out of it when she found two bodies, one obviously a teacher judging by the SeeD uniform, bobbing lifelessly in the reddening water. She didn't investigate; she had no desire to know how horribly they had died.

The Atrium was crawling with people, girls screaming, men shouting, whips and nunchaku whipping everywhere, the occasional burst of gunfire and clanging swords and knives doing nothing to calm the chaotic atmosphere. One group found that their planned escape route through the car park was blocked, and were turning back the way they came; straight towards the dripping wet Brandi. Looking to get away from the retreating group, she found another advancing gang, mainly composed of qualified SeeDs, running, weapons drawn, in a rather gung-ho fashion, prepared to kill or be killed.

A sword-wielding Seed, who must have been twice her weight, knocked Brandi to the floor. She fell stupidly onto the tiles, and though she tried to regain her footing, the floor had become slippery from the waters of the fountain, which people were desperately jumping in… or being thrown in.

An injured creature, clutching its gnarled hands to a deep hole in its chest, its horrible features twisted, its foul-smelling mouth drooling a greyish-pink substance fell on the ground next to Brandi. It was impossible to tell whether this bloated abomination had once been a man or a woman, but it sported a knitted red tank top, very similar to Headmaster Cid's. It moaned slightly before a large black boot came down on its head, quite on purpose, after which it ceased its twitchy movement and slumped to the ground.

Some of its clotted body fluid splattered onto Brandi's pretty face, and she screamed, and hoped that someone would look down, notice she was uninjured and in distress, but her screams went unnoticed, mingling into the crowd.

Trying once again to scramble to her feet, she grabbed a strong looking pair of legs. The body they belonged to fell promptly to the floor, and some three people of a similar size came after him, toppling upon the slight, unnoticed form of the stricken Brandi.

Brandi's bad day ended there, for she was crushed under the weight of the three men, her spine splintered into pieces, her lungs squashed uselessly into the ground.

Xu and Nida, waited anxiously in the former Headmaster Cid's office, waiting for those who could fight through the crowds, to make it up to the third floor. Xu had been checking her e-mails after she had attended to Amuke's body, and had sent out a further plea for anyone who could, to make their way to the Headmaster's office, the only safe place left in the Garden. She was worried that no one would make it, and had begun to bite her nails, a habit she had not succumbed to since childhood, when she heard the familiar _whoosh_ of the lift whirring into action.

"Be prepared," she whispered to Nida, drawing her weapon. "It could be a lift full of those… things…" She shuddered, thanking Hyne that Cid had the good sense to keep ammunition in a closet in his office; she had wasted so many bullets against those humanoid things, some which just wouldn't die.

The elevator door rumbled open, and in rushed Raijin and Fujin, looking unusually small and scared, a far cry from the big burly Discipline Committee they had once been, along with the arrogant Almasy.

"Just… just got in," he wheezed. "Town crawling with those things, ya know."

Xu, who was not exactly on friendly terms with these renegades, smiled tightly. "We shall wait another half hour," she explained, "before we stock up from the Headmaster's emergency rations, and attempt an escape plan." She chose to ignore the fact that the pair were holding each other's hands very tightly.

"HOW?" demanded Fujin, certainly reluctant to face those things again. She had barely fought them off without a scratch, even with Raijin's help.

"Half an hour?" Raijin snorted derisively. "We've not got half an hour, ya know. Have you not seen how bad it is out there?" He gave Fujin's hand a supportive squeeze, as she let out an involuntary shudder.

"You know what?" came a voice from the door. "I hate to say it, but the man's right." Irvine, closely followed by Zell, strode into the room.

"Indeed," Nida said in agreement. "We must save ourselves."

Zell had said nothing; he was a little freaked out that the transformed beings had been most curious about him. He had his unarmed combat skills, and Irvine's sharp shooting techniques, to thank for his life.

"Right," chirped Xu as cheerfully as she could. Cheerfulness was in short supply, yet she managed it. "We should get our stuff together and get going. Irvine, there's some ammo in that cupboard over there. Everyone else, help yourself to healing supplies and anything else you might need."

Zell finally found the nerve to speak. "Wait a sec," he said, "where's Squall? You don't think he's…" He gulped loudly.

Xu shook her head. "It's okay," he said. "I think Squall managed to make it out of Garden before all this started. Did you read the memo he sent?"

Zell shook his head.

"Well," Xu chirped, trying vainly to keep everyone's spirits up, "I think Squall is fine." She whipped a mobile phone from the back pocket of her uniform skirt. "What he wants us to do is flee Garden and meet up with him, er… possibly in Esthar." As the Garden's co-pilot, she knew about the safe locations on the globe, perhaps better than Squall did. She flipped her phone open and began to dial a number. "I'll give him a call."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Author's Note: Thanks everyone for the kind reviews! 

**I originally planned this chapter and Chapter Nine to be one chapter, but I went a bit overboard with the delightful description that I'm glad you all enjoyed. :-) Now my numbering in the margins of my notes is all screwed up. X-O Anyway, where were we…**

As Seifer lazily ran a comb through his short blond hair, the phone on the bedside table, that was Squall's started vibrating against the pine, above the sound of the shower.

Seifer considered not answering it for a moment, thinking it would be that bitch Rinoa, wanting to apologise, or perhaps chide Squall some more. Hyne knew he could do without having to deal with any nonsense from her. Nonetheless, he picked up the phone, and pressed the green Answer key. If there was music to be faced, he and Squall should be facing it. They had deserted the Garden after all. Besides, that rasping noise the Silent-set phone was making against the wood sure was irritating.

"Hello," he answered in a bored sort of way.

"Hello… Squall, are you there?" came a voice Seifer recognised as Xu's.

He sighed. Granted, she wasn't as bad as Rinoa, but if she'd been left in charge after Cid's demise, she'd be on Squall's back all day. "Squall ain't here, man," he sighed. "He's in the shower."

"I… beg your… wait… now, who is this?" Xu spluttered incredulously.

"Seifer," Seifer replied, with a sneer on his face. "Like I said, Squall is in the shower and can't be disturbed." That thought made him feel a little excited. "Can I take a message?"

"Er, sure," Xu said in confusion and surprise. She never had Seifer down as anyone's secretary, let alone Squall's "I just… wanted him to call me back and let me know where he is."

"We're in Timber at the moment," Seifer replied cockily, taking Xu further aback. She had been convinced Squall was working alone. He always did that. His teaming up with Seifer, of all people, was totally unnatural, by Squall standards. "Seems like the buggers are here too, the town is deserted, the old pet shop is all boarded up. Even the people at the hotel were reluctant to let us in, until we showed our SeeD ID cards." He fiddled with the model train, idling by the table lamp.

"Then… what are you doing?" Xu asked.

"I just happened to be in Squall's presence just before the current situation escalated," Seifer continued intelligently. "Plan is to rescue Ellone from Winhill, then make our way to Esthar. I mean, it's dead safe, plus Squall's got family there." He was referring to the fact that President Laguna Loire was Squall's father. Squall had been so mad when Laguna had first proclaimed this to him at the celebratory party that had marked the defeat of Ultimecia. He had refused to believe the official paperwork, such as his birth certificate and had angrily demanded a DNA test; it had been just like those early morning talk shows that had recently become fashionable. Seifer, having been cast out from the Garden at that time, wished he'd been a fly on the wall when the results had arrived in Squall's in-tray.

"That sounds like a good plan," Xu sounded impressed, "Squall through and through," she added, doing nothing for Seifer's albeit inflated sense of ego.

Seifer was about to aim a nasty retort back at Xu, claiming she had no aspirations, as she had been the same SeeD rank for the past five years (even though it was one of the higher ranks!), when she continued. "So, tell Squall that if he holds up in Timber a little longer, we will join him as extra support. He can't do something like this alone."

_Who says he is alone? _Seifer was about to say, but Xu rang off.

"Did you speak to him?" Zell said, worried about his friend and leader. "Is he all right?"

"He's in Timber," Xu replied, a curious note in her voice, "in the company of Seifer Almasy. He…"

"WHAT?!" Xu was loudly, and rudely interrupted by Zell. To say that he wasn't exactly Seifer's biggest fan would be a huge understatement. "Seifer? What the _hell _is he doing with Squall?"

"What I was about to say," Xu said, irritated, "was that he was able to relay Squall's plan to me, which leads me to believe that Almasy and Squall have resolved their differences, at least for the time being, and are working together."

"Or Seifer has kidnapped him," Zell suggested snidely.

"Oh, come on, Zell," snorted Irvine. Although united with Zell in his hatred for Seifer, he agreed with Xu that it was possible that in the face of such danger, Seifer had tagged along with Squall to cover his back. "That's ridiculous!"

Zell shrugged. "He's done it before," he argued. "Remember what he did to Rinoa in the Lunatic Pandora."

Xu grew impatient. "Now's not the time to argue," she said, sharply. "We have to head to Timber, where we shall meet with Squall and Almasy, and regroup." Deep down, she was keen to have Seifer kicked off the team; she hoped it would be safe enough for him to do so.

"All right, then, let's go," Irvine said, tipping his hat and twirling his rifle.

"Let's DO IT!" Zell shouted enthusiastically as he punched the air.

"Okay," Xu said, wiping her sweaty hands on her skirt, and loading her silver pistol. "Let's get going. Raijin, you lead the way."

"Sure thing," Raijin said, compliantly pressing the elevator's Down button.

"Hopefully, we'll have a clear path out of Garden," Xu suggested as the lift began its descent. "Then we'll make our way to the train station and on to Timber, where we'll meet…"

The lift emanated a pleasant _ding, _and the doors opened to reveal a less than pleasant sight. The whole of the Atrium was crowded with the things. Even those that had appeared to be drowned in the now stagnant fountain waters were pulling themselves back out and rejoining the creepy masses.

Fujin recoiled. "HUNDREDS," she muttered, drawing her pinwheel.

"Oh, jeez, not again," Raijin sighed, stepping out of the lift. "Right, how do you wanna deal with this then?"

"May I suggest getting the hell out of here?" Zell replied sarcastically.

"And how do we do that, exactly, Chicken-Wuss?" Raijin countered. "We're completely surrounded!"

"ATTACK!" Fujin barked, aiming her weapon at one of the advancing beings. The recoil pushed her back, and she went flying into Irvine, who yelled "Hey!"

The steel pinwheel went flying clean through the neck of one of the monsters, and its decapitated corpse slumped to the floor. Even Irvine, who wasn't too fond of Fujin, was impressed. His eyes widened. "Way to go," he said, genuinely.

"Hmm," Xu murmured. "Let me try something. Stand back!" She took out her pistol and aimed it at a ragged-looking monster wearing shredded dungarees. She then fired a bullet straight into the forehead of the being. The bullet ripped the top of the monster's skull off, and ricocheted into the temple of another. Both creatures fell down, apparently dead.

Irvine advanced. "Lemme try," he said, aiming his trusty Exeter at another creature's head. He made sure it looked like it had plain clothes on; he didn't like the idea of shooting a SeeD, even though they were no longer the people they had been. "Take this!" He stood firm, resisting the gun's recoil motion, and watched as the bullet whizzed from the gun, and splattered into the monster's eye. This one too, fell down and stopped moving.

"I get it!" Raijin exclaimed, beginning to swing his pole excitedly. "I've done this before!" He spun the pole above his head and rushed at a group of the things that were crowding together defensively. He hit all but one of them – the remaining monster was not too happy and snapped its abnormal, slimy jaws at him, baring its yellow teeth and black gums.

"Hey guys!" Zell yelled above the gunfire of Irvine and Xu's firearms, and the zing of Fujin's pinwheel. "I just discovered something." He Beat Rushed a few of the beasts that were too close for comfort.

"WHAT?" Fujin replied, trying not to let the spiky-haired chicken distract her.

"Watch," he said, throwing a Phoenix Down at one of the things he had just shoved backwards.

As Fujin said "NO," the thing crumbled to the ground in a dead faint. Fujin turned away; a little embarrassed to find that Chicken-Wuss had proven her wrong.

"This means they're undead!" Zell proclaimed loudly.

"DUH!" Fujin answered sarcastically, as she took the head off another of the nasty brutes.

"Well," Zell went on, louder than ever, "that explains why Selphie came back. And why…" Before he could mention the case of Quistis' bodybag being torn open from the inside, he noticed Irvine, frozen to the spot, tears welling up in his eyes.

"TACTLESS," Fujin shook her head.

Zell realised his mistake. "Sorry, man!" he said, rushing over to Irvine's side,

Irvine slowly and stiffly lowered his weapon. "It's okay," he croaked. "It's just… all this stuff is from mythology … it's not supposed to happen… not here… and not to my Selphie." He sniffed, and Zell pretended not to notice a stream of tears running down his cheeks.

Xu had stopped shooting, too "I hate to disturb you guys," she said, trying not to sound fraught, "but we really ought to advance on these guys and get the hell out of here. Irvine, I know how you feel, but… you've got to put up the fight of your life now… do it for Selphie… go on…" She patted him encouragingly on the shoulder

"Okay," Irvine quavered, avoiding Xu's eyes, trying to surreptitiously dry his eyes with his sleeve. He took a breath, reloaded his weapon, and returned to shooting the heads from the shoulders of the miscreations.

"Raijin… Fujin… great work!" Xu called. "Keep it up! At this rate, I'll appeal to let you back into Garden."

Fujin beamed, but Raijin shook his head slightly. "Not bloody likely," he murmured, so that only he and Fujin might hear. "That part of my life's over, ya know!"

Xu continued her inspection of the troops. "Zell!" she called. "It's all well and good using Phoenixes on them, but we might need some for ourselves later on." She paused for a moment in thought. "Fire! That's it! Use Fire on them! Draw some if you have to!" she yelled, remembering the course of action she had been taught. "Now where's Nida?"

Nida, weaponless, junctionless, was cowering at the back of the lift, shaking his head mournfully. Xu approached him "What the heck are you doing back here? Get out there and fight!" She was quite irritated and angry seeing her colleague like this, whilst the others were putting up a superb fight. "Hyne! What's wrong with you?" She pulled Nida to his feet

"I'm sorry, Xu," he whimpered, "but I left my weapon in the common room. Those… things… everywhere… I couldn't get to it… and I don't have anything on me… what am I supposed to do?"

Xu sighed. Ordinarily she would be hopping mad, but under these circumstances, she was willing to make an exception. "Okay," she said. "You stick by me, and once we get to Timber we will buy, or loot a new weapon for you. How's that?"

"F-fine," the posh boy answered, more frightened than he had ever been before in his life, even when he was enrolled in Garden, straight from the Orphanage boat at the age of six. "S-sorry, Miss Sukuri, I'll try harder… I'll try and fight them off, see." He rushed forward, fists clenched.

Xu opened her mouth to warn Nida not to do anything rash, but it was too late. He cut through to the forefront of the action.

"WAIT," Fujin hissed as Nida pushed past her, ready to fight the oncoming savages.

"Yeah, we gotta clear a path for your dumb ass, ya know!" Raijin tried to remind him, as Nida tried to land a few punches to the hungry adversaries.

"FOOLISH," Fujin turned away from the valiantly battling Nida.

She was right to do so, for what happened to the wretched SeeD would have nauseated her beyond belief. A female zombie, her clothes torn almost to shreds, baring cuts and gouges down her torso and thighs, grabbed Nida tightly around the neck and tore at his throat, disembodying his windpipe. She crammed it into her wide, ugly mouth and chewed on it. The remaining members of the team heard the sickening crunches, and so did the other degenerates, as they crowded round the bleeding, wide-eyed form.

Mercifully, this distraction had cleared a path for them to the gate at least, but Irvine, who had been unfortunate enough to witness the whole thing, angrily stiffened up again. Unable to comprehend the savagery and lack of respect for human life he had just seen, he lifted his rifle and carefully took aim at the neck of the once beautiful degenerate who had just done this to his comrade.

"Let's see how you like it, bitch," he snarled as he pulled the trigger, landing a perfect shot in the larynx. The monstrosity squealed as the bullet ripped through the neck and came tearing out through the nape of its neck. The spinal cord severed, it dropped to the ground. However, this disturbance made the demons turn their attention to the man with the cowboy hat and the boom-stick.

"Irvine!" Xu called. "Don't try and get their attention. Just run! They'll never catch up!"

Satisfied he had taken out the whore that had dared to rip apart an ally, Irvine turned to run.

The five remaining survivors (Xu hoped and prayed that there were more escapees in varying groups) made their way unscathed to the gates of Garden, but unfortunately found there was no escaping the threat of these disgusting savage creatures. Still, Xu's battle plan worked a treat, although it was exhausting.

Balamb Town was another fearful sight. Although there were many people who had not been affected by the virus, or whatever was causing this sudden explosion of cannibalistic humanoids, there were many properties, including Zell's former home, which had gone up in flames (Zell shielded his eyes and turned away from that sight; it was just as painful as Irvine being reminded of dear Selphie), and the hotel had been abandoned, its doors bent open by force, the windows smashed.

"Come on!" Xu ordered. "The train station is just up ahead!"

However, on approaching the station, there stood a bloodstained notice informing travellers:

THIS STATION IS CLOSED DUE TO STAFF SHORTAGES

"Oh, _man_!" Zell pounded the ground with his fist in utter frustration. "Don't say we're stuck in Balamb!"

"Hang on…" Irvine pointed to an engine, sitting idly at the deserted platform. "Can't we hijack that? I mean, no one's gonna care, and this is an emergency."

Xu smiled. "Good idea, Irvine," she praised. She headed to the closed barrier and leapt over it. "Come on!"

Raijin rolled his eyes. "_I_ was gonna suggest that, ya know," he grunted to Fujin.

"COWBOY," spat Fujin. "GLORY HOG."

Nevertheless, they followed the cowboy, and Zell over the barriers, and squeezed into the engine's tiny cabin, where Xu was waiting.

"Right," she sighed, "looks like a diesel locomotive, and it was ready for travel, so unless we're really unlucky, it should have enough fuel to take us to Timber at least, perhaps even Galbadia if we get back on it…"

"Won't there be two more people, though?" Zell asked, jostling for floor space with Raijin and Fujin. "Hey – _I _was standing there, get _off _my foot, Raijin!"

"I ain't standing on your foot!" Raijin grumbled. "It's that clumsy-ass cowboy!"

Irvine looked down at his steel toe-capped boots and blushed "Er… yes it is," he said, shuffling away from Zell. "Er… sorry."

As he leaned back, he accidentally moved a lever that set the motor going with an almighty roar, which made Xu jump so much, she almost fell out of the cabin. Luckily, Fujin was there to grab her round the waist and haul her back in.

Xu exhaled sharply. "Th-thank you," she gasped, grateful to the silver-haired girl.

Fujin merely shrugged. "JOB," she replied monotonously.

Xu began fiddling with the controls, muttering as if to hear her thoughts above the incessant chug of the diesel engine. She coughed as the fumes drifted over the engine. "Now… how do we move this thing?" She pushed a lever and the train reversed hard. Her four passengers stumbled backwards, and Fujin gave a rare scream in shock.

"Okay… not that one… what about…" As she pulled another one a deafening hoot came from the engine.

Xu winced. "Shit!" she cursed. "That's going to attract their attention. Well done, Xu," she reprimanded herself. She sighed, reaching for another lever. "Third time lucky…" This time she pushed this one gently away from her, and the train glided smoothly, though slowly, forward.

An almighty cheer rose from the cabin as the engine gathered speed and pulled out of the station.

"Well done, Xu!" Irvine led the congratulations.

"Well…" Xu said modestly. "I couldn't have done it if you hadn't leant on the starting gear."

Raijin swallowed his pride and finally spoke up in praise for the woman he had always disliked; the SeeD examiner who had always failed him, had always chided him, and said that Seifer had always been a bad influence, the reason for his failure.

"That was some good strategising back there, ya know," he said. "And well done for getting this wagon-train movin'."

Xu was slightly taken aback from this high praise from one of the worst, cheekiest students she had ever led to a field exam. "Why, thank you, Raijin," she answered as the train made its way into the darkness of the trans-continental linking tunnel, away from the gloom of Balamb. "Thank you very much."

**Author's Note: For the more observant of you, the _boom-stick _reference is from _Evil Dead,_ continuing the undead theme. :)**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

**Author's Note: Apologies for being so very, very late, I could make a hundred excuses, but I shan't... On with the show!**

Having stormed away from Squall in an incredulous huff, Rinoa returned sulkily, in the ominous gloomy dark Balamb had been cast in, back to their, no, _her_ house near the harbour. It seemed all Squall did these days was spend time back in his bachelor pad, which he laughingly called his Commander's Quarters. Unaware of the danger that was looming, she walked with her head held haughtily high, ignoring what was around her, determined to get home.

As soon as she reached her door, she dug into her handbag for her keys, and wrenched the door open.

Switching on the lights, and ignoring the many photographs of Squall and herself in happier times, lining the mantelshelf and the walls, Rinoa headed for the phone.

She rummaged desperately through her handbag which was already full of unnecessary items: receipts from months ago, tickets to see films long since available to buy, numerous pens, loose tissues, mints, gum, all items she thought she couldn't live without. Finally, upon emptying the contents of the bag onto the olive green shag-pile, Rinoa found what she had been looking for, the handsome police officer's phone number. She was so desperate to hear his voice. After poor Headmaster Cid's unforgivable murder, there were a few things, in her emotional state, that needed to be said. She removed the handset from its cradle, and dialed a number.

Sweaty hair slicked back, Ashley Bryce sat at his office computer, almost exhausted through the day's reports. Murder upon murder, death upon mysterious death. It was taking most of the manpower of the majority of the force, and in Rawlinson's absence, as Bryce had been told that afternoon, he was in charge of the case. He should have been pleased, as the next step was surely promotion to a Sergeant position, which is what he craved most of all, having been working so damn hard for the past five years! However, happiness was the furthest thing from his mind, the cases were driving him mad!

He jumped as his phone rang unexpectedly. Sighing, he reached for the receiver. "Sergeant Rawlinson's office," he drawled tiredly. "Officer Bryce speaking. How may I help you?"

On the other side of the line, Rinoa's heart skipped a beat. She had been hoping to speak directly to this man, the cop who'd glanced at her in an interested sort of way the day before, and was suddenly thrilled. Nevertheless, she knew she must stay composed. She was about to relate a serious matter to the police, for she truly believed that Squall Leonhart was behind the murder of Headmaster Cid, if not Instructor Trepe and the Dincht family.

Rinoa cleared her throat. "Yes, good evening, Officer Bryce," she said confidently, not giving away anything through her voice. "I am just calling to report what could be a lead into the death of Cid Kramer."

"Oh?" Bryce seemed surprised, as he groped for a sheet of paper that had not been desecrated by notes from other people reporting these incidents, seemingly unconnected, some downright strange (like the man who had seen someone dropping from the roof of his house, past his window). "I think we should talk about this in person." He recognised the girl's voice as Cid Kramer's cute secretary. This would be a perfect opportunity to get to know her better, whilst still doing, or appearing to be doing, his duty. "Can I take your name, please?"

"Rinoa Heartily," Rinoa told him, still fighting not to sound too eager. "I live at 25 Shipyard House, Balamb. Top floor," she further prompted without being asked.

_So her name is Rinoa, _Bryce thought, grinning to himself as Rinoa voluntarily gave out her details. _I have her name; it's a start. Hey, and an address to boot!_

"Okay," he said as he scribbled down the information. "And a contact number?" he asked, sounding hopeful rather than professional.

Nevertheless, Rinoa gave him an eleven-digit number he recognised as having a Balamb dialling code. He noted that down, not only on the scrap of paper he had fished from his notepad, but also in his 'little black book' which he kept in his inside pocket, numerous crossings-out and all. "Okay, Miss Heartilly, can you give me a quick statement as to what you wish to report."

"Y-yes, certainly," Rinoa stuttered, a little flustered. "It's to do with the Cid Kramer murder case. I have some… rather sensitive information which could lead to an arrest… possibly even a conviction."

"Hmm…" Bryce's mind was going a mile a minute. _Sensitive information, _he thought to himself. _That's a way in. I could go to this Rinoa chick's house and try my luck!_ "Well," he told Rinoa. "Since you have a lot of information in a very important case, if you wouldn't mind paying you a home visit to collect a formal statement."

"Of course," Rinoa stated. "What time would suit you?"

"What's wrong with now?" asked Bryce, a little too keenly. "I mean… I need to get information for this case as soon as possible."

"Umm…" Rinoa glanced around her messy flat, "what time were you thinking of?"

"Well…" Bryce glanced at the clock on the office wall. "I _am_ supposed to be running the office, but since this is all about what I'm supposed to be in charge of anyway, I can be there within around..." He sucked in his breath, thinking how long it would take to physically drive a squad car through the Timber-Balamb Tunnel, which the authorities were letting emergency vehicles do. If he really put his foot down, he could be with Rinoa within the hour. Besides, he didn't like the idea of her being alone in her apartment in these circumstances, especially after the day she'd had. "Half an hour," he finished, cockily, already thinking about which of the flashy squad cars to take. Rawlinson's battered old Fiat Panda was definitely out.

"Okay," Rinoa said, relief tainting the disdain in her voice. "See... see you then." Replacing the receiver, she curled up on the sofa and waited in silence.

Beaming, Bryce could not believe his luck. He knew it wasn't very ethical, getting to know an attractive woman in the guise of... no, an actual witness, he had to keep reminding himself, bu he didn't care. It wasn't the first time he had used his job to pick up girls. Getting to his feet, he grabbed a set of car keys and, after checking they weren't to a battered old model, rushed out of the police station, unable to stop smiling.

Within the half hour, as he had promised Rinoa, Bryce had made it out of the long and winding transcontinental tunnel, and swerved off the tracks, onto the mutilated grass, damaged through other, mainly military vehicles, driving at speed upon it. He skidded on the mud, wet with what he hoped was water stained dark by the dirt, but turned out to be blood, as he found out when some of the substance splashed onto his windscreen. Trying fervently to clean his windscreen, he peered out from his soiled windshield and saw a number of Galbadian soldiers staggering around, as if in shock of the site which lay up ahead.

Dead bodies lined the asphalt up ahead. Not all of them had the peaceful look Bryce had expected from the deceased; some didn't even have their innards intact. A cold shiver went down Bryce's spine, and made him even keener to get to Rinoa, alone in her harbour flat, probably without power, therefore probably cold and hungry. He jammed his foot on the accelerator, but he had to brake when he saw a figure lurch in front of him. Shocked and scared, he stamped on the brake, stopping within an inch of the figure's feet.

"What the hell?" Bryce wound down the window and hollered at the man. "I'm a police officer; I have clearance." He pulled out his warrant card and showed it to the figure whose milky eyes trained upon his exposed arm. The figure, not the least bit interested in Bryce's identification, lunged for his arm, as if to bite it.

"Hey!" Bryce hollered, pulling his arm swiftly back, just before the creature's teeth could sink into his flesh. "I could take you in for assaulting a police officer!" But the... thing... didn't seem to care, its eyes still fixed hungrily on Bryce as he hastily closed his car window. Something was very wrong with these people, Bryce realised, and Rinoa was in terrible danger. He would have to think of a way to get her out of that flat... or perhaps they would be safe, barricaded in her warm apartment, furnished with a woman's touch; a refreshing change from his smelly singles apartment...

A thud from the fist of one of the grotesque gang interrupted Bryce's dreamy reverie, and he knew he had to get away from these monsters at any cost. He revved his engine and put his foot down on the gas, sending at least four of the creatures flying. Bryce prayed they survived; he did not want to be lumbered with incident paperwork on top of everything else.

Eventually he reached the harbour flats; a few of the figures were still lumbering aimlessly about. Bryce killed the engine, desperately hoping that the noise wasn't attracting these thing. He managed to sneak by undetected by parking in what would be considered reckless in any other situation – right in front of the entrance to the apartments. Trying the door, Bryce was met with another obstacle – an intercom security system.

Staring at the keypad, Bryce figured that he would have to type in Rinoa's door number. But for the life of him, he couldn't remember it. Racking his brains, trying to remember the door number the pretty girl had given him over the phone just three quarters of an hour before, he failed to realise that the flesh-hungry assailants had spotted him and were slowly getting closer and closer...

In the cramped diesel train cab, Zell Dincht leaned his blond spiky head out of the window, taking a gasp of the freshest air he, or any of his companions, had breathed, since entering the rank, stuffy, transcontinental tunnel, though this air was still decidedly fetid. Death was almost certainly in the air.

"At last!" he gasped triumphantly. "Timber! I see Timber!" He was smiling for the first time before Selphie's death. He turned to face his comrades, who were looking disheveled and anxious to leave the train, having spent just under twenty minutes cramped together in a small space that smelled like a torture chamber.

Irvine pushed the brim of his cowboy hat up, and glanced out of the muddy windscreen, on tiptoe, as it was high, even for his lofty frame. "We're coming up to the station now," he observed. "Better hit the brakes; we don't wanna crash this thing after coming so far."

Xu steeled herself. "Let's see if I can remember which one's the brake," she murmured. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cellphone. "Zell..." she said, before changing her mind, conscious that Seifer might answer. "Uhh... Raijin." She thrust the phone at him. "Call Squall and tell... whoever answers we will be in Timber in literally a minute." Nervously she put a hand on a lever she believed to be the brake. "Try and get a location as well," she advised him as he held the phone to his ear.

"Hello... who's that... Seifer, man! Thank Hyne! Thought I'd never see you again after that mess in Balamb, ya know... listen... are you safe?... Well, that's to be expected with Squall... look, we managed to hijack a train and we're just arriving into Timber now... where're you?... hehe, good idea, ya know... _what_?"

Xu suddenly looked panicked. "What's wrong?" she asked abruptly, spinning round to face Raijin, and relinquishing her grip on the brake. In her panic, the train began gathering speed again.

Irvine pushed ungraciously past Fujin, who shot him a look filthier than the sooty engine they were riding in. Grabbing the brake, he yelled "I got it!" The train began to slow down once again.

"They're at the pub," sighed Raijin dejectedly. "Holed up with a few other survivors."

Xu frowned. "Well... that's good, isn't it?" she questioned, confused.

"Not really," Raijin explained sadly. "They've run out of booze..."

"Oh, for the love of Vascaroon!" Xu snapped, snatching her phone out of Raijin's grip. "Seifer!" she yelled into the handset. "Stop messing around and put Squall on!"

Seifer must have obliged as Xu's harsh expression softened. "Squall," she breathed, "thank goodness!"

"Xu," Squall said importantly. "Good timing. Bad news; they're here, too. We're in the Aphropha bar with some of the locals who haven't... transformed. It's pretty safe, but..." The rest of his advice was drowned out by the almighty industrial screech of metal against metal, as Irvine bought the train to as smooth as a stop that he could. Finally, the train jolted to a juddering halt.

A slightly claustrophobic Fujin was first onto the platform. "FREEDOM," she spat, almost leaping off the train as it stopped.

Zell followed, just as enthusiastically. "OHHHH YEEEAAAH!" he cried, as the soles of his red flash trainers touched down onto the concrete.

Irvine and Raijin followed, no less quickly than their compatriots. Only Xu remained in the cab, hollering into her phone. "Hello, Squall? You still there? Aaargh!" She withdrew the phone from her ear and redialled. "Hi. Squall... yeah... sorry about that. Listen, we have _just_ arrived in Timber... what's the plan?"

Squall simply answered, "Not to die."

Xu was almost speechless. "Uh... yeah..." she stammered. "See you in the pub, then." She hung up and put her phone away.

Making their way down the stone steps from the deserted platform, the survivors from Balamb glanced around. As there were no other trains running, there was an eerie silence around. A crumpled-up newspaper blowing around stopped at Xu's feet. She looked disdainfully at the headline: PRESIDENT CARAWAY: ALL IS WELL. ANTI-GOVERNMENT PROTESTS CRUSHED

Zell, looking down at the litter as well, snorted. "Seems like Rinoa's father has done well for himself," he noted, not bothering to hide his sarcasm. After that fiasco over the parade, and the cocky General stripped of his official title, and kept under house arrest during the Sorceress' reign of terror, he had somehow clawed his way back up the political ladder, and was President of Galbadia. Although he granted independence to Timber, it was in name only; still under the jurisdiction of Galbadia. Still, there were greater matters at hand than a broken political promise.

"To the pub!" Irvine announced urgently, wishing it had been under much, much happier circumstances. He was also a bit apprehensive, not only because of the threat of death from any angle from one of those... horrible creatures, but it would be his first meeting with Squall since Selphie's funeral. He was embarrassed about the way he had acted both there, and at the scene where the accident had happened, and he hoped there would be no ill will between them now.

Reaching the door, they found that the metal gratings covering the door were bolted shut, and the lights were off. It appeared to be empty.

"But the said he was definitely here," Xu pondered. "I don't know Timber very well. Is there another pub anywhere at all?"

Raijin shook his head. "Not that I know of," he said. "This is it." He sucked in his breath, fearing the worst. "Unless they had to leave in a hurry, ya know."

"No," Irvine said, with certainty. "There would be signs of forced entry from where they tried to get in, and unless they've come in and not managed to unbolt the front door in time..." He trailed off and gulped.

"No way!" Zell yelled. "No way would it have happened so fast! I mean, we only got off the train two minutes ago. He took a breath. "So if within that time the worst has happened... they would still be fighting them off... and we would hear them..." His face turned paler by the minute, his tattoo becoming more prominent than ever.

"Well, there's only one way to find out!" Raijin began hammering on the blue steel grating. "Seifer! It's us, ya know! Let us in!"

Raijin paused for a moment and listened to mumblings within the pub. "What if it's... police... think we're rioting... those... things? ...can't risk..." He did not recognise any of the hushed voices as being Seifer, or Squall. He began hammering again.

"SEIFER," Fujin called above the din. "US. BALAMB. MUST ENTER."

"Please," Xu put in. "The coast is clear, there's... there's nothing... else around," she reassured. "We come in peace; we're SeeDs from Balamb Garden."

"Well, most of us are," Zell muttered, shooting Raijin and Fujin a scornful look.

Eventually there was a series of clicks, a loud clunk, and the steel door swung open. The five survivors were met with a weary-looking barman. "Get in, quick," he said, in a panicky voice.

Gratefully they all came into the dingy bar, which smelled like stale tobacco, and warm, flat cider and lager. Xu could not suppress a shudder as the door slammed shut behind her, prison-like.

"I'm sorry," croaked a portly woman wearing a scarlet and cream patterned bandanna over long, mousy brown hair, and a dirty, brown flowery dress. Zell recognised her as Miss DiMarco, the leader of the Forest Fox, and a friend to Rinoa. "We... we normals... well, we can't be too careful about who lurks about anymore." She gulped, and her eyes took on a watery appearance. Zell had the dreadful feeling that her three adopted children that he, Selphie, Squall and Rinoa had met last year, were among the dead.

"What happened?" Xu asked, eyes wide in horror at the dozen or so people gathered in the dingy pub. They were sweaty, unkempt, and a few were passed out in the corner, obviously having turned to drink to block out the awful situation.

DiMarco shook her head listlessly. "They... them things... they just came outta nowhere... from across the plain... from the forests... even through the railway tracks. They just came... and ate... and killed... everything in sight... everything too slow to run away... The children..." Her voice broke and the tears ran down her face.

A burly man in a mud and blood-splattered torn shirt and jeans paced forward. "Hey!" he yelled angrily, stalking up to Xu. "Why are you bringing this up? Don't you know she's just lost her family?"

Zell sprang to her defence. "Calm down, man!" he yelled. "She's not the only one who's lost someone." He took a breath. "They're in Balamb as well," he continued sadly. "My ma, Shelley and that little rascal." Zell shook his head.

"Yeah, show a little empathy, Shaun," snarled Seifer. Zell was rather taken aback. Why was Almasy sticking up for him?

"I'm sorry," Shaun whispered. "It's just that... we've been fighting so hard to keep them at bay... It's impossible, I tell you." He exhaled in frustration. "We haven't got weapons, like you guys," he sighed, eyeing Irvine's shotgun, Fujin's pinwheel, and Xu's pistol.

Zell smiled a weak smile. "You don't need fancy weapons," he said, trying his very best to keep their spirits up. "You just need to get them in the head."

DiMarco's moist eyes became wide, intrigued. "You think so?" she asked.

"I know so," Raijin cut in, carelessly twirling his pole around, narrowly missing Shaun, and the bartender, who barely escaped a set of broken ribs. "All ya gotta do is smack 'em with whatever you got to hand. Knives, chair legs, bottles... ya know." He eyed the bar, partly wishing there was at least a tiny drop of liquor left.

Shaun's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?" he asked, sceptically.

"Well, it got us this far," Irvine said encouragingly.

"Thanks for the tips," Shaun replied cockily, "but I don't think we'll be needing it." He smiled. "Seems like the danger has passed."

A faint moaning could be heard. DiMarco turned to see if the unconscious drunks were stirring, but it sounded like the noise was coming from outside.

The ominous noise was followed by a loud thumping. The door, despite its reinforcements, trembled. A girl screamed.

The moaning got louder and louder, the banging got fiercer and fiercer.

"Everybody," Xu announced, "we have to get out of here. We can take you to Galbadia Garden. It is a stronghold, believe me. You'll be safe there. Probably other survivors are on their way there too."

"We're not going anywhere!" Shaun snarled, grabbing a barstool and smashing it against the once splendid marble bar. "We're staying to fight. We're not exposing ourselves to any more danger." Still the battering continued; a splintering noise could be heard.

Seifer, who had been strangely quiet, leapt to his feet, drawing Hyperion. "Speak for yourselves," he said. "I'm with that lady there." He indicated Xu with his gunblade. "What say you all?"

Shaun gave Seifer a contemptuous stare, as the hammering continued. "Good luck," he spat. "The exit is back there." His stubby index finger pointed to a green door with a steel bar securing it. "Be sure it doesn't hit you on the way out!"

"Will you calm down, Shaun!" DiMarco snapped, not really sounding calm herself. She turned away from Shaun and faced Seifer, who was helping Squall off the ground. "Are you really leaving?" she asked. It was as if she had grown fond of the boys.

"We have to," Squall said in his usual, serious way. "The wellbeing of anyone at the Gardens is our priority." He looked around at the helpless, frightened normals. "You can come with us, if you wish. We'll protect you." He looked towards the five who had joined them recently, who solemnly nodded.

DiMarco rushed over to Squall and hugged him, as the taciturn warrior stood momentarily frozen, awkwardly returning the embrace. "If only we could," she replied. "You see, Timber is as important to us as the Gardens are to you. We cannot surrender this place to those... not so soon after being granted independence."

Squall nodded. "I understand," he said. He cleared his throat. "Are you prepared to come with us?" he asked the group.

Xu nodded, and drew her gun. She passed it to DiMarco. "Use it well," she whispered, delving into her pockets, and pulling out a few round silver objects. "There's a few more shells here." She placed them on the bar. "Just pull that tab to reveal the chamber and pop them in, rounded end first." Ms Dimarco nodded.

"Be careful," Shaun croaked, genuinely touched by the SeeD's kind offer for help. "Squall... Seifer..." He rushed over to the men, shaking their hands in turn. "Good luck. I hope we meet again soon."

"I'm sure we will," Squall smiled, not really believing his own words.

"Well," Seifer said, his hands on the fire escape door, ready to push the release bar down. "Shall we go?"

The door flame splintered and a crack of gloomy light trickled ominously through.

"Yes," agreed Irvine, "and quickly."

The team dashed through the fire exit without a backwards glance, apart from Squall, whose last words to them, "Good luck," were lost amongst the crashing of fragile wood against the mass of bodies on the other side.

It wasn't long before Squall firmly shut the door that they heard screaming, shooting, moaning and crunching. The sounds of a losing battle.

"Come on," Squall croaked. He had just sent those few people to their deaths, but tried, with not much success, to console himself with the knowledge they, the remaining survivors from Balamb, had a greater chance of survival without them. "Let's go."


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: Sorry, no excuses. Thank you for the recent reviews and not giving up. ^_^**

They were closing in. The moans of the damned who were gaining on Bryce were enough to make him sweat. He pulled his sleeve over the heel of his hand, and wiped the keypad dry, still trying to remember Rinoa's door number. He tried to remember her phone number as well, but if he couldn't remember a simple two-digit number, what was the point? Trying to ignore the hungry figures gradually approaching, he tried to recall the conversation.

_Come on, _he told himself, _there are only twenty-five flats!_

As he felt the hot breath of one of the creatures on the back of his neck, heard the menacing, gurgling moan, he remembered! Twenty-five flats! Of course, a penthouse would be right at the top! Bryce cursed himself for puzzling over it for so long. Never mind he had only been racking his brains for three minutes; it was a long time when a group of marauding mindless murderers were creeping up on you steadily.

Rinoa must have been in a desperate hurry to talk to him, or aware of the danger outside, because she buzzed him in without a word. The metal door that Bryce had been pushing frantically on swung open and he stepped swiftly inside, slamming the door behind him. The squelch told him that his attacker had been close enough to administer a bite that Bryce did not yet know was fatal, but that whatever had been trying to take him out had been mortally trapped. He spun round and slammed the security door closed with a final kick, not hanging around to watch the blood and tissue that had once been a head, splattered on the toughened plate glass panel.

Tearing up the stairs in desperation to see the pretty girl, or anxiety to get away from the beings outside, he leapt up the stairs two, maybe three at a time, and arrived at Rinoa's open door, panting and sweating. His dark hair now felt greasy and uncomfortable, despite the fact he had washed it that morning; he swept it away from his wet forehead.

Rinoa had retreated from the door and was now sitting importantly at the dining room table, her eyes wide with concern. "Come in," she said anxiously, as Bryce shut the door behind him. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

Bryce wasn't sure whether Rinoa was being sarcastic; he had lost all track of time on the way here. So many strange events had driven such a straightforward concept out of his mind. He smiled, the sight of Rinoa sweeping away any remaining thoughts about those abnormalities prowling, unbeknownst to Rinoa at least, the building perimeter. "No problem," he said, walking towards the solemn yet beautiful girl.

Rinoa eyed him eagerly. She remembered him from a few days ago, waiting to catch a glimpse of her on the pretence of waiting for his colleague, as well as on that fateful day of Headmaster Cid's death. It seemed Bryce had eyes only for her. "Take a seat," she breathed.

Obediently, Bryce pulled up a chair opposite Rinoa, on the other side of the narrow table, the better to look into her chocolate brown eyes. He cleared his throat, reaching into his jacket for his notebook. "How can I, er... be of service?" he stammered, her beauty making him a little nervous. Fumbling for his pen, he realised it had dropped out of a hole in his jacket pocket, a hole he had been meaning to get fixed for months. "Can I... can I borrow a pen?"

Rinoa passed him a slightly chewed plastic biro. "It's the only spare I have," she said apologetically, with an expression of distaste. "It belonged to my ex..." She broke off, seeing as her accusations were centred around him.

"Shall we begin?" he asked. "So... you think you have an idea as to who murdered Cid Kramer?"

Rinoa looked around the house that she and Squall had once shared. Glancing at a framed photo (one she had forgotten to place face down) of herself and the man she was convinced murdered Headmaster Cid, she pushed her final loyalties to Squall aside. Her eyes fixed upon the handsome officer's curious light brown ones, she took a breath. "Squall Leonhart," she announced. "Squall Leonhart, former commander of Balamb Garden, and his accomplice, Seifer Almasy, former student of the same Garden, both of whom went missing shortly after the news of the death spread."

Bryce nodded, and scribbled some notes into his little black notebook.

"I visited Mr Leonhart in his quarters after I discovered Cid's... Cid's body..." Rinoa continued in a small quavery voice. "He... appeared to have just showered, maybe... to get rid of any evidence, maybe, you know... and when I told him that Cid was dead, he seemed... calm and unsurprised by the news." She sniffed, part of her still unable to comprehend the fact that Squall could be a murderer. "He warned me to get out." Her voice was now a whisper.

Bryce frowned. "So," he said thoughtfully. "The reason he was so calm about the situation was that he already knew?"

Rinoa nodded.

"Might he have found out, from another source?" suggested Bryce, "being Commander of the Garden and all?"

"No," Rinoa, now slightly more composed, shook her head. "I'm certain. I found the body. Apart from the... injuries... he... he was undisturbed, so I am sure I was the first to find out he was dead." It was clear she didn't want to go into details about her mentor's brutal murder. "I told him fresh, from my knowledge, I'm sure of it."

Bryce appeared to write this down. "Did he have any motives for killing Mr... Professor... Headmaster Kramer?"

Rinoa frowned. "Well..." she said, thinking hard. "During the Sorceress Crisis, just before the Battle of the Gardens over Centra... Headmaster Cid left the Garden. Squall always resented Headmaster Cid for such cowardice – an action I know he regretted – and apparently they had words... cross words... upon his return. He told me about that." She paused. "Also, I think his accomplice, Mr Almasy, has killed before..."

Bryce sucked the previously chewed pen, before remembering it had previously been played around another mouth, and promptly withdrew it. "Tell me more about your suspicions, Rinoa," he said, maintaining eye contact; her eyes were hypnotic enough to prevent him taking a glimpse at her breasts. Or perhaps it was her magic; he had heard rumours that Rinoa was a sorceress.

"He was in a relationship with Miss Trepe before she died," Rinoa informed him. "That relationship was breaking down before her death, I could see it. Anyone could see it."

Making a brief note, Bryce eyed Rinoa, still resisting the urge to take a look at her gorgeous curvy body. "He was questioned about this crime," he said. "We believe he is innocent."

"Until proven guilty," said Rinoa challengingly. "Also, Mr Almasy had a grudge against one Zell Dincht, who has since fled in terror. His family were found dead, you know." Rinoa was solemn, unyielding, convinced that Seifer had pressured Squall into the murder of the Dinchts.

"I had heard that," Bryce said. "However, eyewitness reports confirmed they were seen in Balamb High Street a few hours after their alleged death. Pale, listless, but still alive," he finished, trying to sound reassuring.

Rinoa looked tearful. "Squall did mention that," she admitted. Hearing it come from a policeman, a figure of authority, and rather a handsome one at that, did put her at ease a little. The Dinchts were okay, shaken, but Zell had nothing to worry about.

Looking down at his notes, Bryce decided to question Rinoa on an interesting point. "You say he warned you to get out," he asked gently. "Do you know what he meant by that?"

Rinoa shook her head slowly. "He told me that the Garden was no longer safe," she said, recalling that horrible conversation with the uncaring soul she had once adored. "He said... _you need to get as far away from Balamb as possible..._ Then he said that something could reanimate at any time." Her blank expression told of her puzzlement over that statement. "He didn't make sense. He sounded crazy. He even said so himself."

Bryce, equally as lost and baffled, frowned. "Do you think he was referring to himself, his own temper? His own brutality?"

"You mean like a threat?" Rinoa cottoned on quickly. "Maybe... Yes, that makes sense. Terrible sense..." But why would Squall want to hurt her? He was a straightforward, to the point sort of guy, even this post-Selphie's-death Squall who was robotic and hateful. Such cryptic warnings were not his style.

At that moment, Bryce's radio crackled.

"All units, all units," the message spattered. "Unconfirmed reports of several homicides in the Timber area. Please remain vigilant; only enter the town with proper clearance. Do not approach anyone who appears to be dangerous. Over."

Rinoa's pale face turned whiter, and her eyes became rounder. "That's where they headed!" she croaked. "Timber is the only place you can get to from here at the time of night they... Squall and Seifer... they disappeared... escaped to... call it what you want!" She snapped at Bryce's doubting expression. "They would have arrived by now! They're continuing their killing spree!" she squeaked, close to tears. "How... how could they do this...?" Her head in her hands, she began to cry.

Bryce rushed straight to Rinoa's side. Seeing her break down like this... he had come to a decision. He would go on a mission with Rinoa, investigate this for her and her alone, protecting her with his very life all the way. Maybe it was her compelling personality crossed with her supernatural sorceress powers that was driving him to listen to, and be convinced by her (Bryce had heard the rumours), or perhaps, more accurately, he couldn't bear to be parted from her. No way would he leave her alone to be set upon by the vile creatures outside. She was safer on the move, and he would be by her side constantly. Maybe he loved her.

"It's okay," he said. "Listen, I'm going to call my colleague, Sergeant Rawlinson, and we're gonna track down Leonhart and Almasy, and bring 'em to justice! He gave Rinoa a squeeze, which seemed to comfort her; her shuddering sobs stopped. He broke from her, and held her shoulders tenderly, at arm's length, gazing at her sad face, now streaked with mascara-coloured tears. "It's not gonna be easy," he said. "We need to prepare. Pack a few things. I take it you have a weapon?" he asked her, tentatively.

"Y-yes," Rinoa whispered hoarsely. "My... my Blaster Edge..." She glanced down at Bryce's hips, at his holstered weapon. "Nothing compared to your gun," she lamented.

"Still might come in handy," said Bryce, hopefully. He was banking on those beasts outside to flee at the sight of one of their dead, and move on to the next building, trying to fuel their lust for carnage. He hoped Rawlinson would find transit a little easier and quicker than he did; he hoped the trans-continental trains would be running again.

Rinoa rose to pack some belongings, and Bryce watched her disappear into the next room. Pulling his cell from his pocket, he dialled Rawlinson's well-remembered number.

The phone rang and rang, too many times for Bryce's liking. What if... something had happened? What if Rawlinson's involvement in the case of these multiple killings had driven him to become the next target? What if those grey-skinned beings of unknown origin had got to him? What if...?

"Hello?" said a groggy, slightly grumpy, irritated voice through the phone's earpiece. "What is it?"

"Sir," Bryce began. "I have a lead on the Kramer murder case."

"Oh, it's you," said Rawlinson's voice, now intrigued. "New information, eh? What's happened?"

"Rinoa," Bryce's heart fluttered as he said her name. "Uhh... Miss Heartilly, Kramer's secretary, has her suspicions about Squall Leonhart and Seifer Almasy, a pair of fugitives, who could be behind this."

"Okay," Rawlinson willed Bryce to continue.

"We have decided... I suggested following the fugitives so we can apprehend them, and Rinoa can identify them for us," Bryce explained.

"Identify them?" Rawlinson sounded sceptical. "We already know what they look like, Bryce, we've met them in person!"

"Yes, but..."

"There is no need to bring this lady along with us; she would be in danger!" Rawlinson stated incredulously. "Besides, it sounds like you are trying to use her as bait, as she has been linked to both of the gentlemen you speak of."

"Seifer, too?" Bryce sounded taken aback, but refused to be convinced by his senior. "Never mind that, that's neither here nor there, Sir. It just so happens that... well... she could be in danger in her own city, her own home." Bryce was a little insulted. He would never had even dreamed of using Rinoa as bait.

Rawlinson sounded intrigued. "In danger?" he asked. "What do you mean?"

"Come to Balamb as soon as possible," Bryce requested, "and you'll see what I mean. Meet us in the lobby area of Shipyard House. And for God's sake, be careful!"

Rawlinson sighed. "All right!" he relented. "I'll be as quick as I can. I will give you a buzz when I reach you. Don't know how long I'll be there; the trains are still down..."

"Shit," hissed Bryce.

"...but I'll do my best. It might not sound like it, Bryce, since you woke me up from a much needed sleep – haven't slept in days, you know – but I want to get to the bottom of this as much as you do."

"Thank you, sir," Bryce said, gratefully. "Speak to you soon."

Rawlinson rang off.

"I hope..." Bryce whispered to the dead line.

Rinoa appeared at the dining room door, bag slung to her shoulder, her trusty Shooting Star strapped to her right wrist. Her expression showed fierce determination, to thwart Squall Leonhart, the man whom she had once loved, changed beyond recognition since Selphie's death, and bring him to justice.

"Okay," she whispered. "I'm ready."


End file.
